


Bygone Days

by GingerKI



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Blood Drinking, Bloodplay, Dark Past, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Historical References, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 13:41:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 67,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29101194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GingerKI/pseuds/GingerKI
Summary: "Sheesh, these days a Slayer can’t even call a vampire’s soul her own.”
Relationships: Spike (BtVS)/Other(s), Spike/Buffy Summers
Comments: 31
Kudos: 35





	1. Falling through changes

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. In short, I do not own anything Joss would want and he owns a lot of stuff I do. I'm doing this solely to amuse myself and, maybe on a good day, entertain others. I leave that to them to decide.
> 
> The mood of this, the first BtVS fic I started before I got diverted with other things, is heavily influenced by the Portishead LP "Third," which was released in April of the year in which this is set (2008). While not a song fic, the chapter titles are directly lifted from lyrics on that album with the opening chapter's title coming from the opening track, "Silence." I'm a visual 'writer' (a term I apply loosely in reference to myself) - the scene plays in my mind before I put it down on paper. Sometimes complete with soundtrack so I will note if a song accompanies a specific chapter or scene in the event that someone might want to sample the mood that inspired it.

**London**

**June 2008**

It was just after sundown when Buffy crossed Westminster Bridge on the warm summer – technically late spring but it was warm like summer – evening. A mild day, finally, after several consecutive days of rain and cooler-than-average temperatures and the city buzzed with energy. Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament illuminated behind her as she crossed from the north to the south bank of the Thames. The London Eye, also bathed in light, made for a stunning view ahead and just a short walk downriver.

Was a time that all of this was the stuff of fantasy. Living in a fancy-schmancy neighborhood in a foreign capital with killer shopping, restaurants, pubs and a million things to do. Casually strolling among throngs of people out on a mild evening. Locals rushing home or to the pub after a late shift. Visitors moving at a more leisurely pace to take it all in on their way back from dinner. Doing whatever she pleased on a lovely Tuesday night because she was no longer duty-bound to be the sole protector of an entire community and sometimes all of humanity. But fantasy had become reality half a decade ago and here she was: 27 years old; recently returned after 20 months back in the old US of A; reunited with her sister who was studying and thriving in London; footloose, fancy free and feeling…

_Meh?_

As she crossed into Lambeth she pivoted right to head towards Archbishop’s Park. Not a cemetery, but if she were lucky empty and dark enough to draw something worth slaying. It had a playground, a nice one, and vampires had a weird thing for playgrounds. Maybe it was the lingering odor of all the tasty treats that had been there earlier, like walking into a room where someone had just finished a pizza or spicy wings.

_Happy Meals on legs…_

She shut that voice out of her head before the flutter of hurt could take hold in her chest. With a cursory look around to make sure that no one was watching, she hauled herself over the locked gate. The last thing she needed was the Met on her ass and Giles having to call in a marker. While there was now a _special arrangement_ in place between the Council and several municipal and federal law enforcement agencies around the world, part of that arrangement called for slayers operating with, as Giles put it, _due discretion_.

Summer tended to be the slow season for slaying in the UK because the nights were so short this far north. Winter more than made up for it with its seemingly endless nights of inky black but that was months away. The key, she had figured out, was to get an early start. That’s what the demon population tended to do, compensating for the limited hours of darkness by getting a jump on the evildoing right after sunset.

Okay, so it was _probably_ pathetic that she was _choosing_ to patrol alone, which wasn’t even a thing anymore with Council protocol now dictating that slayers patrol in pairs or even small squads pending availability of personnel. But after nearly two years in Cleveland with Faith, the only other person on the planet with any comprehension of what it had meant to be _The Chosen_ , she didn’t feel comfortable patrolling with anyone except the second longest-serving slayer and other survivors of the battle against the First. But Vi was busy here in London, having taken over training and supervision of slayers based at Council HQ when Buffy left for Cleveland. Which was where Rona now lived, working side-by-side with Faith training and supervising slayers there while keeping the hellmouth in check. The rest were scattered across the globe having assumed key positions within the Slayer Organization.

After a few early attempts at making personal connections with the new slayers, Buffy now maintained a businesslike distance to avoid the inevitable awkwardness. Some treated her like a curiosity or relic while others treated her like a cross between the Queen and the Pope. None she had met so far had treated her like a woman who was still in her 20s and could be a mentor or, dare she even think it, friend.

She could have quit patrolling altogether but the idea of retiring from the game and assuming some ass-fattening desk job seemed ludicrous to her. On that point she and Faith were in complete agreement and would often joke about it. It was weird enough having one of only two lifetime seats (Faith held the other) on the governing body of the Slayer Organization, the reconstituted Council on which slayers now held a majority of seats per the new bylaws drafted and adopted in 2004.

So, here she was, (still) young and (very) single in one of the world’s great cities teeming with other young singles and _choosing_ to go into a park alone after dark hoping to find a baddie to slay. Okay, so it was _definitely_ pathetic but, man, she’d be _pissed off_ if she came up empty handed. Even a big, dumb, slow demon species she could best with one hand tied behind her back would be better than nothing.

Buffy smiled when it became apparent that she would do better than better than nothing. _A lot_ better. Her hunch about the playground was spot on because there were vampires, three of them, two males and a female, lounging on a swing set. Hopping over the low fence enclosing the playground, she addressed the assembled party.

“A playground? Seriously, guys, you are _so_ predictable. And what’s _with that_ anyway? Take my word for it, you’re creepy enough without the pedo vibe.”

They were up on their feet and, three game faces later, the female vampire commented, “A slayer out patrolling on her own? Not very bright, this one. What do you think, Canadian or Yank?”

“Only a Yank would be daft enough to think she could handle the three of us on her own,” replied one of her buddies.

Buffy rolled her eyes and shot back, “You know, insulting me is just gonna make me kill you harder.”

Then it was on.

Was it ever. They were actually good. _Very_ good. She hadn’t had to fight this hard since leaving Cleveland. A couple close calls later, she amended that to she hadn’t had to fight this hard since Sunnydale. Not _apocalypse_ hard but old-school-daily-burden-as-Chosen hard. She had acquired a bruise or six. She could taste blood in her mouth indicating a busted lip. And she was having a ball. She was almost disappointed when she dusted the last, feeling a tug of womanly pride that the female vamp had lasted the longest because she had been the most tactical fighter.

Sweaty and a bit breathless, Buffy barely had time to bask in her victory when her slayer senses alerted her to another vampire behind her in a patch of trees adjacent to the playground. It was turning out to be her lucky night. Backflipping over the fence to land just at the tree line, she was poised to strike when, lightning fast, a hand closed like a vice around her right wrist.

“Oh, no, you did not!” she growled, kneeing her assailant in a most-delicate area.

“Bloody hell, Slayer!”

The grip on her wrist loosened as her stake hit the ground; her ass following suit when her legs instantly converted from solid to liquid beneath her. Either unable or unwilling to believe her ears, she stared wide-eyed into the equal parts pained and irritated expression on the face hovering above her, wildly searching a pair of dark eyes. So dark as to appear black in the indirect moonlight. They weren’t black, though. They were dark blue. A very specific shade of dark blue that she had only ever seen one place. And hadn’t seen anywhere in years.

Except in her dreams.

**TBC**


	2. For you know I’d ask you for nothing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from the song "Hunter" on Portishead's 2008 release, "Third."

“Direct hit to the knackers, some things never change,” Spike remarked sardonically as he held out a hand to help Buffy to her feet.

She was vaguely aware of an array of possible responses in the deep recesses of her mind but was unable to access any of them. She neither replied nor took his hand as she continued to stare mutely up at him while her brain fired _SpikeishereSpikeisrighthereSpikeisreallyhereSpikeishere_ on a continuous loop.

Withdrawing his hand, he blinked an appraisal of her and inquired, “You get kicked in the head, Summers?”

_Ooh, I know this one!_

“No,” she muttered then looked around her.

Her eyes fell upon the stake she had dropped, and it had an anchoring effect as if to remind her of who and where she was. She reached for it then stood up on her own and dusted off her clothing.

“S’long as you’re alright then. Put up a helluva fight for a fledge.” Her eyes snapped up to meet his again.

“ _They_ were _fledges_?!?” Hallelujah, the power of speech had returned.

“Near enough. Fresh. How many were there? Just caught the tail end of you and the bird.”

“There were two others, male, and they didn’t fight like fledges either.”

“Right. Came across a pair on my patch the other night. Same. Fledges who didn’t fight like fledges.”

_His… patch?_

“Your patch?” And, just like that, her brain and voice were synching again.

“Near my digs… different part of town.”

“So, you _live_ here. I thought…”

_You were on the other side of the world._

_In L.A._

_With my ex, who you had always led me to believe you despised._

_Where, as far as I knew, you have been ever since the amulet spit you out just a few weeks after I had watched you dust._

_Over five years ago._

_And not so much as picked up the phone, sent an email, or mailed a goddamned postcard._

_In five fucking years._

“Yeah,” he replied after a long pause while scratching the back of his head and shifting his weight from foot to foot in that way he did when he was on the spot then added, “More of an extended visit. Not sure how long I’ll be here.”

“Well,” she responded coolly as she pinned him with her gaze. “Be a shame to leave when the weather is just getting nice.”

With that, Buffy slipped her stake into the waistband of her jeans and turned away from Spike. She had thoughts, so many thoughts, and just as many questions. But something had stopped her from voicing them. As she began walking briskly away from him, she didn’t bother to analyze what it was. She was sweaty, dirty, tired, and sore and suddenly all she wanted to do was get back to HQ and take a bath. For, like, four days.

“Buffy!” he called after her. She stopped in her tracks. Hearing her name on his lips felt like a blow.

“Yes?” she called back, too sharply, and sighed.

“Gotta mate drives a hack waiting for me just outside the gate. Fancy a lift home? Now the adrenaline’s worn off, I figure you gotta be feeling that fight.”

_Say no. Say no. Say no._

Except that he was right. The idea of walking back, or even taking the Underground, made her temples throb. She turned to face him and replied wanly, “That would be super, thanks.”

The walk out of the park was a case study in deafening silence but at least they made quick work of it. Spike hopped the gate first, offering a hand to Buffy which she opted to take this time as she followed. There was indeed a taxi waiting which had definitely not been there before. Something occurred to her then, but she decided to wait until they were in the cab to bring it up. Spike introduced her to the driver, part demon but seemingly harmless enough, who nodded a greeting but did not speak to her.

“Gilbert Street Mayfair, Mike. Number 22. Off Grosvenor Square,” Spike directed then sat back in his seat. In response to the look she shot him he explained, “News travels fast when the Slayer’s back in town. You’re a bit of a celebrity in the demon world, pet.”

Rolling her eyes and crossing her arms at her chest, Buffy turned to face out the window as the taxi pulled away from the curb then stated, “It’s just until I find a place of my own.”

“Doubt you’d do better than a posh Mayfair address. Sure it’s lovely.”

_Beyond_ ready to cut the shit Buffy turned back to Spike and asked point blank, “Why were you following me?”

“Wasn’t, not in the strictest sense.”

“In _what_ sense then? Exactly?”

“If you can believe it, were stopped in traffic on this side of the bridge and spotted you walking by. Immediately knew what you were up to and that it was no evening stroll. Figured you were headed towards the park and had Mike loop the long way round. Thought you lot weren’t supposed to patrol on your own anymore.”

_Is he subscribed to the Council newsletter or something?_

“As a general rule, no, but general rules don’t apply to me. I can take care of myself, Spike. And did tonight.”

“That you did. Still smarts.”

“Serves you right for lurking in the dark like the evil undead.”

“Point taken. Just don’t understand why you’d patrol on your own when you don’t have to anymore.”

“Your understanding isn’t required so I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it.”

Spike either didn’t have a response or chose not to offer one. A silence descended that was so heavy Buffy could swear she could feel it on her skin. Mike must have felt it too because he switched on the radio and the void was filled with Yoko Ono on _Desert Island Discs,_ a rerun from the year prior according to the announcer. Her gaze glued to the window; Buffy concentrated on every syllable uttered by the soft female voice telling a story from childhood. It soothed her like one of those white noise machines people used to lull them to sleep. It was so effective that she was a bit startled when the cab came to a stop in front of HQ.

“Thanks for the ride,” she offered then unceremoniously opened the door and added, “Guess I’ll see you around.”

Not waiting for a reply, Buffy closed the door behind her. She had reached the bottom step to the building when she heard the taxi door open again and felt her body turn before she even realized what she was doing. Meeting his eyes in the brighter light of Gilbert Street, she saw that they were passive, inscrutable. So different from the eyes she remembered, eyes that vividly expressed whatever emotion he was feeling and often several emotions at once. But the color was the same, a blue so lush, so penetrating that no one should have a right to eyes that color.

“Might consider some extra time in the training room with your watcher. Tell Rupes you were telegraphing your moves on the left. He’ll have you sorted in no time.” She blinked once at him in reply then he shrugged and added, “Take care out there, Slayer,” and sank back into the vehicle. The door closed again.

“He isn’t my watcher anymore… no one is,” she muttered under her breath as the car pulled away from the curb. When it turned out of sight at the next corner, she closed her eyes and inhaled sharply then turned to drag herself up the steps.

Buffy had never been so relieved to find the ground floor enveloped in darkness, the place seemingly mercifully empty. No slayers bounding down the stairs with news, usually of the do-not-care-and-really-do-not-want-to-hear variety, no arguments over the remote echoing from the parlor. _Parlor… why did the British have to make everything sound so… British?_ No, _“For the love of… put that down unless you want to awaken a Sumerian goddess… I assure you that you do not want to awaken a Sumerian goddess,”_ bellowing from the library.

She slumped into the bizarre seat/mirror/coat rack thing with creepy animal antlers for hooks that Giles had an inexplicable attachment to even though it tended to wig everyone else out then stared unblinking into the darkness. She tried to identify what she was feeling but found herself unable to grab hold of a single tangible emotion. Unless numb was an emotion but no, she knew otherwise from experience; numb was the absence of emotion.

“…Buffy?”

She was suddenly aware of hearing her name, that someone was speaking to her. Looking up to confirm that she really had company, she offered,

“Giles, I thought you were gone for the day. Quiet here tonight.”

“Well, most of the girls are out patrolling, the rest are taking in a film I believe, and I was indeed halfway home when I realized I’d forgotten a file I wanted to review before bed and… are you… is everything…?”

If not burdened with a fat file portfolio tucked under one arm, she was sure he’d be removing and polishing his glasses by now. Which he spent most of his time doing in her company these days. The chasm that had formed between them made even the most seemingly mundane interaction awkward. She had been back barely a month but wouldn’t be surprised if he’d already worn clear through the lenses.

On a reasonable facsimile of a reassuring smile she replied, “It’s been… I’m… just tired.”

“Well, then, I suggest taking advantage of the quiet to get some rest. Three more slayers are arriving tomorrow, transfers from Cardiff, so it isn’t likely to be this quiet again around here for some time. Goodnight, Buffy.” And he was gone, the door closing behind him with a dull thud that reverberated in the empty vestibule.

“Goodnight, Rupes,” she replied under her breath.

She did not move for a long time.

**TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I placed Council HQ in what I deemed to be a sufficiently stuffy London location, just off Grosvenor Square in Mayfair. I picked number 22 because something called 'Global Study UK' occupies that building and that sounds sufficiently vague and innocuous to be a front for Slayer Organization HQ. ;-)


	3. Wandered out of reach

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is also from the song "Silence" by Portishead.

**June 2004**

**Council HQ**

**Gilbert Street, London**

“I got this,” Vi stated, shooting a reassuring smile over her shoulder as she helped the limping teenager out of the training room.

“Let’s call it a day,” Buffy announced then watched pensively as the rest of the trainees filed out.

It was the third injury this week but at least they now had a qualified sports trainer on staff to provide safe and effective pain relief and stabilize the affected area while slayer healing did its job – a process that would be closely monitored and well documented. When it came to the physiological implications of activating all the potential slayers, they were still in the figuring-it-out stage.

Only a year in it had already become clear that there was measurable variation in strength, ability, and healing capacity among the slayers they had mustered to date. Which did not surprise Buffy in the least since years ago she had noticed some differences between herself and Kendra and other differences between herself and Faith. Because whether you were comparing 3, 30, or 30,000, slayers were more than the sum of their supernatural parts, they were unique individuals.

Buffy expelled a heavy breath then set about tidying up the training room, straightening mats and putting away equipment. When she finished, she would stop by the library to update Giles on the progress of today’s training and to inform him of the latest injury. She got the over-the-glasses glare when she didn’t keep him in the loop, something she still went out of her way to avoid even though everything was different now. They were no longer watcher and slayer; the bylaws of the reconstituted Council governing what was now the Slayer Organization had formally made them colleagues.

While they had not repaired the personal rift created when he’d moved back to England while she was struggling with her involuntary return from the dead, a rift that had grown further the following year over her allegiance to _him_ , Buffy did not underestimate Giles’s value as they navigated the new normal. For one thing, she had come to appreciate and rely on his skills as an administrator. She may know how to kill things, but he knew how to _run_ things, which had become very important as they faced the prospect of building a global organization of slayers.

Also, she owed him one: Giles had pulled strings to get Dawn into an excellent boarding school in Bath where she was able to complete her final year of high school with some semblance of normality. After a gap year in which she was insisting – against Buffy’s wishes but she was legally an adult now so Buffy was in no position to stop her – on coming to London to work at HQ, with the side-benefit of having a handy Latin and Greek tutor in Giles, she would be Exeter-bound next fall and on her path towards becoming _Dawn Summers, BA (Exon)_. Most importantly, she was happy.

Thinking about Dawn’s new life made Buffy smile, reminding her that it had all been worth it. She had failed at being an older sister and guardian plenty, but she had gotten Dawn this far in one piece and now her future was in her own hands. Of course, Buffy hadn’t done that alone.

_“‘Till the end of the world. Even if that happens to be tonight.”_

She reflexively curled her left hand and ran her fingertips across the faint scar in the center of her palm that hadn’t completely faded, and she suspected, she hoped, never would. It was a memorial of sorts even if she was the only one aware of its significance, not because she didn’t think he deserved to be remembered by others but because she didn’t want to share their last moments with anyone; they belonged to her and her alone. She smiled wistfully then set her jaw and headed out of the room in the direction of the library.

Buffy hesitated outside the slightly-ajar door (you had to use a little elbow grease to get it to close all the way and Giles usually forgot) when she heard Andrew’s voice. She had forgotten that he was due back in London after his most recent trip to the U.S. and was really not in the mood for his dramatics. She considered sneaking up to her room and briefing Giles tomorrow, but their conversation drew her interest.

“…report on the most unfortunate business in L.A.”

“I think you’ll find it is complete and thorough. It was my top priority. I haven’t even seen _Prisoner of Azkaban_ yet and it’s been out for over two weeks.”

“Right, and a grateful nation appreciates your sacrifice.” Buffy bit her lip to stifle a chuckle as Giles continued, “I was terribly sorry to hear about Wesley. The Council will be sending Roger a formal letter of condolence. We may not have agreed on tactics, he may have been a member of the old guard, and I know that he and Wesley did not see eye to eye but, at the end of the day, he is a grieving father. Angel was inexcusably reckless, and I don’t understand it.”

A pang of melancholy hit her in the chest. Word of Wesley’s death had made it to HQ prior to Andrew’s return and Buffy had assumed the task of calling and informing Faith. Even if it had been years since he had been a regular feature of either of their lives, it was a sad coda to a tumultuous period in their complicated history. And yet another addition to the catalog of losses.

“I think you will, better, once you read the report. In the end, I think it was Spike who convinced me.”

Buffy closed her eyes and shook her head. Either she had misheard, or Andrew had misspoken. After all, he had developed a pretty major obsession last year and, afterwards, would not shut up about _the beautiful golden martyr_ for months, which was one of the reasons she tended to avoid interacting with him unless it was absolutely necessary. Although to be fair, he had either gotten the message on his own eventually or someone had finally spoken to him about it because the last couple times she’d seen Andrew he hadn’t brought it up and had been pleasantly more subdued in general.

“Well, I will do my best to read it with an open mind under the circumstances, but I do not feel right about keeping something this significant from Buffy.”

_What… exactly?_

Giles’s concerns about Angel’s recent un-life choices weren’t exactly secret. In fact, they had discussed it at length at the beginning of the year before sending Andrew to L.A. to bring Dana back. The inconvenient truth was that she shared his concerns, although she had decided to put her own misgivings on the back burner for the time being, at least until he did something she could not ignore.

What, she wondered with a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, was so objectionable that they had decided to keep it from her? She almost didn’t want to know. She’d have to drag it out of them, of course, but that didn’t mean she’d have to like it.

_Angel, what have you done?_

“I made a pledge to a champion, and I shall uphold that pledge to my dying breath.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. Angel had clearly worked his charms, which had been a concern of hers when they sent Andrew to L.A. given his obvious predilection for handsome vampires (pot meet kettle). She had no idea what he was yapping about but she’d had enough and decided it was time to confront them and force them to just spill it already.

She was reaching for the door when Giles replied, “When Buffy finds out that Spike is back, and that you’ve known since you went to L.A. to collect Dana, your dying breath may well be nigh. And now you’ve made me complicit in this deception.”

_No._

What Giles said made no sense. She’d seen him burn. She’d watched him die. He was dust. He sacrificed himself to close the Hellmouth, to save the world. Spike was _gone_. Forever.

“He asked me not to tell her. I promised.”

“Yes, well, I suppose one could argue that he has his reasons and that he’s earned the right to decide when… if… but I… I just don’t know.”

_Why are they saying these things? What is wrong with Andrew?!?! And why does Giles believe him?!?! Something’s not right here. If Andrew is seeing Spike then something is most definitely not right. Or maybe that isn’t even Andrew. Oh… God… what if…_

The door flew open with such violence that the resulting crash made even Buffy flinch. Andrew squealed and ducked behind Giles who shook his head and glanced heavenwards.

“Giles, get away from him. It’s not… I don’t think that’s Andrew. I think the First is back.”

“Buffy, I assure you that this is _indeed_ Andrew and that the First is _not_ back.”

“He’s lying. Spike is dead. I was there. I watched him. He burned to dust closing the Hellmouth. Something is not right here.”

Heaving a heavy sigh, Giles gestured to a chair then counseled, “Buffy, please do take a seat and let us explain.”

* * * *

Reclining in the bath, Buffy pressed the palms of her hands to her eyes. The sting of humiliation felt fresh as she recalled the day, four years earlier, when she learned that Spike had been back a full year and had spent that year with Angel and his crew at Wolfram & Hart. And that neither vampire had seen fit to inform her of that fact. And that Andrew had known for nearly six months but had kept his mouth shut. And that he had done so at Spike’s request.

A request that Spike had seemingly been prepared to withdraw when he and Angel had blundered into the decoy operation the Council had run in Rome that spring to flush out powerful forces literally hellbent on exacting revenge on the Slayer responsible for changing the world in ways they did not approve. Yet reinforced, resolutely, when Andrew had gone to L.A. only a few weeks later to debrief the survivors of the battle against the Circle of the Black Thorn. Despite the fact that he had apologized to both vampires for the subterfuge and assured them that what they had seen in Rome had all been smoke and mirrors. That Buffy had been nowhere near there, nor the Immortal, who she’d in fact only met once, briefly, and had not been impressed.

Buffy had listened in silence then picked her dignity off the floor and left them without another word. Heading straight to her room, she had changed her clothes then set out to patrol alone for the first time since Sunnydale. Dawn had moved into HQ by the end of the month and Buffy spent the next year cultivating her relationship with her sister while supervising and training slayers and solidifying Council policies, procedures, and protocols with Giles. All of which kept her busy enough that she could (mostly) avoid thinking about her undead exes or whatever the hell they were up to in L.A.

All communications with Angel flowed through either Giles or Andrew, who only raised the topic of Spike to her one other time after that day in the library, before his next trip to the U.S. when he thought he might see him and wanted to know if he was now duty-bound to inform him that she knew he was back. She had replied that she did not care but that if he was worried about Spike’s reaction, he should feel free to keep it to himself.

Buffy had mostly been able to avoid the topic altogether although she did tell Dawn soon after her arrival in London. Her little sister had grown up a lot and gotten almost disturbingly good at reading her, so her reaction had been subdued. Although Buffy had not missed the flash of something resembling regret in her eyes.

Before too long Spike’s return had become common knowledge. Faith had found out from an L.A.-based slayer visiting Cleveland for a family wedding then it quickly spread from there via the Council grapevine. Which suited Buffy just fine because it had spared her the awkward task of having to tell anyone else and risk being asked how she felt about it. That is, until Willow had forced the issue. After Buffy had managed to stuff both feet into her mouth, which was truly her superpower.

*** * * ***

**HR Higgins**

**Duke Street, London  
**

**October 2005**

“Look at us, two grownup career women enjoying tea and scones in a fancy London café,” Willow observed with a grin that warmed Buffy’s heart. She had really missed her.

“I’m so glad you’ll be around for a while, Will,” she replied with a smile.

“Me too. I think a change of scenery will, you know, be good for me.”

“I’m sorry to hear about Kennedy. How are you doing?”

“I’m fine. We both are. I think we just realized that we weren’t moving in the same direction anymore. I’ll always care about her and be grateful that she helped me see that I… could _live_ again… _after_.” Buffy nodded her response; there was nothing more to say.

“In the meantime,” Willow continued brightly. “I’m enjoying the single life. Indulging in me time. How about you? Anyone on the horizon?”

“My horizon is empty. I’ve dated a little, but nothing has stuck. Nothing seems to fit. I don’t know, maybe I just don’t have any romantic chemistry with English g…”

There were moments when Buffy seriously questioned whether there was any physical connection at all between her brain and her mouth. This was one of those times. She stared into her teacup as she felt her face flush.

“You can talk about anything with me, Buffy. I mean if you want to. I know that things are... so much has happened... since... I mean, everything is different now.”

“Of course, Will. We’re good,” she muttered but did not look up.

“You can talk about _him_.”

“What’s the point? He’s gone.”

“Well, he isn’t, really. I mean, he’s back.”

“He’s not here. And maybe that’s a good thing. No, that’s definitely a good thing.”

“Maybe it is but... you seem...

“What?” She finally looked up.

“I don’t know... something’s... What happened with that guy you met last year? You talked about him a lot on our marathon phone calls and you seemed to really like him then next thing I heard you kicked him to the curb.”

“Aaron? It wasn’t serious. We dated a couple months. We broke up.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, it just... wasn’t.” Buffy shrugged.

“When did you find out that Spike was back?”

“That’s not... it has... nothing...” Except, she realized, that she had broken up with Aaron within a week, maybe two, of finding out that Spike was back, telling herself at the time that it was because between Council business and Dawn’s gap year she just wouldn’t have the time to devote to nurturing a new relationship.

“It’s okay, Buffy. Even if you two never see each other again, which seems doubtful, he was a part of your life in one way or another for a long time and it’s ok to acknowledge that.” Only it wasn’t ok because acknowledging meant thinking about it and thinking about it led to no place good.

“God… there is something _so_ wrong with me... I... I can’t _be_ with anyone without comparing... Why can’t I be with anyone without comparing?”

“Comparing?”

“It was _so_ not of the good what we were doing that year... but... physically... we were… no one’s ever... it’s never been...”

“Oh.” Now they were both blushing.

“See, this is why I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I’m always going to blush, Buffy. Naturally awkward here. But it does make me wonder...”

“What?”

“When I was reprogramming the bot, she talked. Like a lot.”

“Ew.”

“Yeah... but she said one thing that sort of intrigued me.”

“ _Intrigued_ you?”

“Um, yeah. About the first thing he... ya know... did...”

“Oh my God, I _so_ do not want to be talking about this.” Although, really, how could anything possibly shock her after the things _they’d actually done_?

_I’ve done things with you I can’t spell._

“No, it’s not... I mean it’s… the first thing he did with… to the bot was... you know...” Willow cast her eyes downward.

“Oh... OH!” Buffy looked away, a wry smile playing on her lips.

“I mean, she was programmed to _please him_. He could have done anything he wanted... _anything_ and he... If you think about it, it’s really kind of, ya know, sweet.” Again, no. No thinking about it but she _was_ thinking and still talking apparently.

  
“I barely let him. I... I couldn’t stand the look in his eyes. Like I was the most precious thing in the world... like he...”

_Maybe really was capable of loving me, fucked up as it might have been._

“Was he...? Men tend to think they’re all…” Willow rolled her eyes.

“Spike may be a braggart but in that particular area he’s earned the right. He got the job done.”

“I think you just answered your own question about the comparison thing. And now that we’ve got that over with, what do you think the deal is with Katie Holmes and Tom Cruise? Has she lost her mind or what? Think she’ll actually go through with it?”

* * * *

By the following year, the once new and exciting had become routine. The Slayer Organization was fully established and humming along. Dawn was firmly ensconced in academic life and eagerly anticipating her second year at college. Xander and Andrew were still busy mustering slayers 16 and above across the globe and placing them at Council locations as near to where they’d grown up as possible while Willow led the young slayer project.

Identifying and cloaking the slayer status of the younger girls who had been activated so that they could just be kids for as long as possible had been identified as a top priority soon after the destruction of the Sunnydale Hellmouth. With the assistance of the Devon coven Willow monitored the young slayers to make sure that they and their families continued to be safe. She also cloaked and monitored slayers who did not wish to join the Slayer Organization at 16, opting to finish high school rather than completing their degree independent study with a Council tutor.

It seemed as though everyone around her had found their purpose just as Buffy was beginning to question her own. Giles didn’t really need her. Dawn didn’t either. With Vi having really come into her own over the last couple of years, Buffy’s presence at HQ was beginning to feel superfluous. The world seemed to be moving on without her. Even _he_ had moved on without her. Without looking back, apparently. She was feeling restless, discontented.

And apparently not concealing it well because Faith had picked up on it and invited her to kick it old school with her at the Cleveland Hellmouth. And so, at the end of September 2006 she had left HQ in the capable hands of Vi and Giles and gone back to ‘Murica where, among other things, she finally mastered the fine art of drinking.

**The Velvet Tango Room**

**Cleveland**

**November 2006**

“So, B, been dying to ask you since you hopped the Atlantic, what’s the deal in L.A.?”

“Deal in L.A.? Oh my God, this is _so_ good, even better than the last one!” Buffy declared as she took another sip of her cocktail. A _big_ one. More of a gulp.

“Bartenders here know their shit, and don’t play dumb with me. You _know_ what deal. Your formerly hostile exes playing the buddy cop routine. What’s _that_ about?”

“How the hell should I know?” Buffy challenged then hiccupped or burped, maybe a bit of both, and added, “I’m not exactly in the loop.”

“So, _not_ planning a trip out west while you’re stateside?”

“A _world_ of no.” She sip-gulped again then in response to Faith’s incredulous look challenged, “What?”

“That’s really all I’m getting? Hells, B, I got more from _him_ back in Sunnydale.”

“I’ll bet you did… but that’s all I’ve got,” Buffy answered with a shrug.

“Wait, you… you haven’t even _spoken,_ have you?”

“Guess he doesn’t have anything to say to me.”

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s it.” Faith rolled her eyes.

“He knows where I am.”

“And you know where he is.”

“It doesn’t...” Buffy blinked away from her then grabbed her drink again.

“Work that way? Oh, that’s right, he’s supposed to be nipping at your heels like a devoted puppy.”

“I didn’t say that. I just thought… after everything… that he’d have at least let me know he was back.”

“He must have his reasons.”

“Whatever they are I’m sure they make complete sense _to him_ but, again, wouldn’t know.”

“If you’re curious about why your puppy slipped his leash there’s only one way to find out.”

“Can we _not_ talk about Spike? If I’m going to spend this much on, ok ridiculously good drinks, I’d like to _enjoy_ the evening.”

“Amen to that.”

“Rona, have a seat and we’ll get you set up,” Faith offered, scooting over in the booth to make room then signaling the waitress.

“How was patrol?” Buffy asked, relieved that the slayer’s arrival had shifted the topic.

“Quiet. Do demons visit their relatives for Thanksgiving?”

“Enjoy the quiet while it lasts because it won’t,” Buffy advised.

“Not complaining. The new girl from Pittsburgh looks good too. She’s disciplined, pays attention.”

“Just like you when you first arrived in Sunnydale… not.”

“Yeah, I know, but in my defense it did all seem pretty hopeless and, therefore, pointless. Speaking of… what about your soul boy?”

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about him either.”

“Got curious. Changed my mind.”

“Well, I haven’t. There’s nothing to discuss. He dusted. He came back. He’s in L.A. I’m here. The End.”

“Mm hmm,” Rona responded with a sidelong glance then turned to address the waitress who had appeared.

“It’s your life, B, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned along this bumpy road it’s that we’ve all got shit and, eventually, we’ve all gotta deal with our shit or our shit deals with us.”

On that pearl of wisdom Faith raised her glass.

* * * *

“Faith was right,” Buffy whispered as she stared up at the ceiling of her room.

She hadn’t dealt with her shit and tonight she’d stepped in it with both feet. So, deal with it she would. But not until _after_ she hit the training room. Hard. Because at some point amid the tidal wave of memories and emotions the evening’s bombshell had unleashed on her she had realized Spike was right. She had been telegraphing her moves on the left.

**TBC**


	4. And new evidence is what we require

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this one comes from the track "Hunter."

_Spike gets mail._

Buffy shook her head, her lips quirking at the inanity of it as she ran her index finger over the address window of an envelope from the thick bundle she had found stuffed into the slot in the door of the unremarkable, although one might go so far as to say charming, dwelling on Fulham Palace Road. First house on the left just after the cemetery when coming from Hammersmith. Which had made her laugh out loud when she’d checked the number over the door.

It had been easy enough. A quick trip to a demon bar, a couple threats of egregious bodily harm, and she had an address. If she was a bit of a celebrity in the demon world then so was he: a vampire with a soul, the second member of the Scourge to acquire that distinction albeit the first to do so voluntarily, and a local boy to boot. The bigger challenge, once she had the address, had been mustering the nerve to pay a visit. That had taken three solid days. So, of course, he wasn’t home. And if his mail slot was any indication, hadn’t been for a day, maybe two, or more. It was possible he wouldn’t be returning for some time. Maybe he was gone for good, back to L.A. or off to parts unknown. So why was she sitting patiently on his porch with his mail in her lap as though they had made plans to meet up and he’d be there any minute?

“So, tell me, Slayer, which loose-lipped wanker I gotta kill?”

She took a fortifying breath and waited until she heard the metal front gate slam shut to look up then, at a loss for what else to do, held out the bundle.

“Here’s your mail.”

He rolled his eyes then took it from her before stalking past her, the tail of his duster brushing her arm. She turned to watch him but didn’t stand up immediately. He opened the door, flicked on a light in the hallway then turned to her and offered, “Knew you were coming, would’ve told you to make yourself at home. Door was open.”

She blinked a few times then responded, “You’ve known I was coming sooner or later for a week, Spike.”

He shrugged then turned away from her and into the house, leaving the front door open. It was the only invitation to enter she was going to get, apparently, so she took it. Hopping up she turned and went inside, closing the door behind her.

“Up here,” he called to her. “Haven’t decided what to do with the ground floor yet.”

She climbed a flight of stairs to find another doorway leading into the living area. There were some pegs by the door, one from which his duster now hung, and a row of built-in cupboards for shoes that she’d seen in some other homes over here. To the right was a closed door, a bedroom or bathroom maybe, to the left a wrought iron spiral staircase. Straight ahead was the kitchen, where he stood leaning against the counter. Arms folded. Well-muscled arms – he was in prime fighting shape as revealed by his t-shirt.

“Nice place,” she observed.

“Yeah, not half bad for an inheritance the wrong way round. Great granddaughter of a cousin died without heirs. Took a little doing – thank you gift from W&H Europe for almost getting my goose cooked helping Peaches take down the Circle of the Black Thorn – but it’s mine free and clear.”

“Well, William… is that your real last name on your mail?”

“Was, yeah, is I suppose, one in the same.”

“Congratulations on the inheritance.”

“Ta. Bit weird to be joining the property-owning classes. Drink?” he tacked on when she moved into the kitchen. He picked up a bottle from the counter and held it up.

“Yes, thank you.” To his look of surprise, she responded, “It’s been a long time. I’ve learned to drink since… Sunnydale.”

Nodding, he turned to grab a couple glasses out of a cupboard and gestured through an archway leading into a parlor with an offer of, “Have a seat, Summers.”

His turning revealed a mark on his neck. A hickey to be more specific. A big one. Wherever Spike had been the past couple days, it was obvious what he had been up to. Buffy felt an unpleasant flutter in her chest, her cheeks warming. She swallowed hard then took him up on his offer and went into the parlor to take a seat and compose herself. Rationally, she knew she had no right to jealousy, but when had rationality ever factored into it when it came to him? If she’d done the _rational_ thing, she’d have staked him years ago, on one of the many occasions he’d given her reason.

She soothed herself by taking in her surroundings. The sofa was in front of a large window, obscured by dark curtains as to be expected. Above it, though, was a lovely stained-glass window that was not covered. The sofa was nice, looked expensive, as did the large Persian area rug covering the expanse of the room except for a narrow border of exposed hardwood.

_Just looks different when you’re under it._

She shook off the unwelcome, unhelpful memory and glanced up at the built-in bookcases, nearly full. There was a small TV on a stand along with a DVD player with a few cases of hand-labeled, burned DVDs stacked atop it. There was also a turntable, receiver and speakers in the far corner and a stack of LPs propped against the wall beside it. On the near side of the room, adjacent to the archway into the kitchen, a small table with two chairs abutted the wall. On the table were scattered a couple books and what looked like a journal and some pens. Her eyes fell to the glass coffee table in front of her, on top of which sat several fat candles burned down to various heights, surrounded by pools of wax that had melted then cooled.

_Holy shit, Spike’s really here. And you’re really here. In Spike’s house._

“Your drink?”

Buffy looked up to find him holding a rock glass out to her containing a single ice cube and two fingers of whiskey. Her heart fluttered. In the shock of their previous meeting, she had failed to take in how truly gorgeous he looked. _Healthy._ If that were a word you could use to describe a guy who’d been dead for over a century. He seemed _at ease_ , the most she’d seen him since… well, probably before he’d declared his love for her, before the chip even. Maybe ever. She took the glass from him and he took a seat on the other end of the sofa, looking utterly relaxed as he sipped his drink. The love bite on his neck which looked to be of the ordinary human variety, and which he was obviously not making any effort to conceal, was clearly visible at this angle. She looked away from him and took a sip of her drink, a big one. She could feel his eyes on her as she silently enjoyed the burn. He wasn’t the only one who had changed.

“Must be nice,” she observed after a second sip. “I’m _on the Council_ now and nobody’s digging up random inheritances for me.”

“Yeah, well, heck of a thing when you walk into what you _think_ is a suicide mission and come out the other end to nearly infinite resources. ‘Course the worst of it was admitting a method to Peaches’ madness, even if _he_ wasn’t entirely sure what it was at the time.”

“I hear that’s some setup you have in L.A. I think it irritates some members of the Council how well-funded you guys are. Of course, the major concern is with the _source_ of those funds.”

“Your ex hasn’t gone to the dogs, I assure you. May have made some risky compromises to start but had his reasons and still fighting the good fight. Ought to know, been fighting it alongside him for years now.”

“That has been Andrew’s position,” she stated pointedly and turned to look at him again, noting the slightest tightening of his jaw at mention of the man who had been acting as official emissary between the Council and the W&H Europe-backed ASG Investigations since its establishment (or reestablishment under expanded leadership) in the Hyperion the summer after Buffy had learned of Spike’s return.

“Yeah, well, hard won and not without… cost,” he remarked before taking another sip then setting his glass down on the coffee table, getting up and going back into the kitchen. He returned with the bottle, refilled his glass then set the bottle down before retaking his seat and continuing, “No thanks to your lot.”

“I didn’t know anything about that.”

“Wells told me as much but never figured you did. Anyway, was our fight not yours.”

“I was totally in the dark about _a lot_ back then.”

“Yeah, well had enough on your plate, I figure.”

_Seriously!?!?_

Buffy set her glass down hard on the table and briefly considered telling him to jam his whiskey, his house and whatever the fuck his deal was straight up his undead ass. Then she remembered two things she wanted to communicate and refrained, instead grabbing the bottle to refill her own glass as she raised the first of them.

“Two of our slayers encountered another fledge who didn’t fight like a fledge.”

“Yeah? Well, bugger, three times is no coincidence. Can’t be good.”

“No, it cannot. I don’t suppose you have any ideas?”

“Been a bit out of the loop past couple days so no, but now I’m back in town I’ll keep my eyes and ears open.”

“Please do because…” She was getting around to thing two, which was dirty pool, but she was _so_ past giving a shit.

“Dawn is living in London now, getting ready to start a master’s program at King’s College. Just rented a flat with a college buddy who recently accepted a job here.”

He sat forward and set his glass down then remarked, “Nibblet studying at King’s. How about that? What’s her subject?”

“Classics. Her B.A. is in Classics from Exeter, with distinction I might add. She ultimately wants to pursue a PhD at King’s in… let me get this right or suffer the wrath of Dawn… palaeography and manuscript studies.”

“Hmm, can see where this is going.”

“Yeah, she’s pretty transparent. She wants onto the Council one day but not because of her connection to me, or even her own personal history. She wants to earn it.”

“Wow that’s…” he trailed off, picked up his drink and took another sip.

“I think she would really like to see you.”

“I very much doubt that.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Didn’t exactly part as mates, did we?”

“That... was a long time ago. Since you… with everything… I know she regrets…”

“Regrets? What in bloody blazes would _she_ have to regret?”

“Being unkind to you.”

He snorted then asserted, “Unkind? Suppose that’s one way to put it. Within her rights, she was, looking out for big sis. Was growing up, is all. Seeing things clearer, judgment no longer clouded by silly, schoolgirl notions.”

“Looking back on it now, I don’t think she sees it that way.”

“Shouldn’t be bothered seeing it any way. Has bigger fish to fry than me at uni. Sure she’s brilliant at it.”

Buffy blinked away from him, something unpleasant settling in her chest. If he was passing on the Dawn card then she was all out of cards to play.

“But you’re right, won’t do to have Snack Size looking over her shoulder whenever she wants to take a break from the grind and pop out to the pub with mates. Your phone… got one, right?”

She blinked at him. Had he always been this exhausting? Well yeah, of course he had.

“Mobile?” he prompted, raising both eyebrows.

“Um, yes.” Buffy dug into her pocket and produced the flip phone that, much to the chagrin of Giles, Dawn, Vi and virtually everyone else in her life, she often forgot to take with her and regularly forgot to charge.

“Give it,” he wagged his fingers in a ‘hand it over’ gesture. She did. He programmed his number into her phone then hopped up and out of the room with it, returning with it and his phone – a smart phone, looked like an iPhone ( _fancy)_ – in the other hand then sat back down again as he programmed her number into his phone.

“Yours is almost dead,” he observed, handing it back to her then went on, “Either of us finds out anything about the fledges we let the other know. Two heads better than one, yeah? What’s your watcher think?”

“I don’t have a watcher but if you mean Giles then he doesn’t know what to think. He’s looking into it,” she replied with a shrug.

“Right, so his head’s predictably up his arse then. Meantime, getting late, Slayer. Mike can run you home if you like.”

“He’s like literally at your beck and call?”

“On his shift, yeah, seeing as he’s on ASG payroll.”

She blinked her response again. He tilted his head in achingly familiar appraisal of her, shooting a glance to her empty glass then back to her. Furrowing his brow, he tapped the screen on his phone.

* * * *

As she waited for Dawn to arrive at the coffee shop, Buffy studied the delicate leaf the barista had made in the foam of her latte as she recalled the silent drive from Spike’s three nights earlier. Mike had nodded to her when she got into his cab then immediately turned on the radio to fill the car with soft music. Upon arriving at Council HQ, he had again nodded in acknowledgment when she thanked him but did not speak. Was he mute, she wondered, or merely disinterested in engaging in conversation?

“Hey, sorry to keep you waiting. Had to stop by campus first to take care of something and the trains are having issues today because, ya know, it’s a day. Thanks for ordering for me.”

Dawn leaned forward to give her sister a peck on the cheek before sitting down. Buffy smiled and replied, “No worries. Haven’t been here long. Your coffee is probably just barely cool enough to drink without melting your esophagus.”

Dawn chuckled and took a sip of her long macchiato. Buffy still found herself occasionally awed by her sister’s transition into the confident young woman and scholar sitting across from her. Now the age Buffy had been when she had stood at the edge of a massive crater to survey the literal ruins of her youth, Dawn had her shit _so much more_ together. She had goals, a plan of action for reaching those goals, and achievements – the kind that could be publicly acknowledged. Buffy was proud of and grateful for Dawn’s progress but also a bit envious. Not of the specifics because she could never see herself spending hours mastering Latin and Greek, sneezing over dusty old books, but because her kid sister was on a path entirely of her own choosing. Even if that path ultimately led to a position within the Slayer Organization, it was _her_ choice.

Theoretically, Buffy had a choice now too, to do something, _something else,_ day to day while maintaining her lifelong seat on the Council, but what? Outside of the job she’d done for a dozen years, one that was most definitely _not_ of _her_ choosing, what she was on paper was a 27-year-old college dropout with a sketchy employment history and a knack for leaving property damage in her wake. Suffice it to say, she wasn’t expecting a call from the Fortune 500 any time soon.

So, what’s up?” Dawn inquired after licking coffee foam from her upper lip.

“Who says anything’s up?”

In response to the skeptical look Dawn shot her over her macchiato as she took another sip, Buffy conceded, “Okay, so there _are_ a couple things…”

“Knew it.”

“Obnoxious much?” Grownup scholar aside, they were still sisters. Dawn rolled her eyes. Buffy continued, “Remember the fledges I told you about? Archbishop’s Park?”

“Yeah, and I wish you’d quit patrolling alone. It’s not like you have to any…”

“ _So_ not the point,” Buffy interrupted then continued, “Two of our slayers encountered another last weekend and I have… another similar report, I’ll get to that in a minute.”

“Well, that can’t be good.”

“That’s the consensus. My _point_ is that I know how much fun this city is and with the weekend upon us, just… be… careful.”

“Yeah, I’ll keep my eyes open as I spend most of the weekend on my couch, reading. Mick’s on his way back to Exeter for the weekend to visit his girlfriend and I’m taking advantage of having the place to myself to catch up on stuff so, unless these fledges can get into my house without being invited, I think I’ll be fine. But…” Dawn grabbed the messenger bag she’d hung from her chair and began fishing through it.

“Reminds me, something I wanted to mention, which is probably nothing, except when is _anything_ ever _nothing_ in the world we inhabit… ah, here it is.”

She slapped the item she’d been searching for onto the table. It looked like one of those postcard ads you see in card racks at the entrances of bars and restaurants. Buffy picked it up and read it then shrugged and observed, “Pop-up rave. Heard of them. Never been to one because, you know, I’m lame.”

“These cards have been popping up on campus and not just at King’s, apparently. UCL and LSE too from what I hear. Thing is, my tutor at King’s, who I’ve had a couple preliminary meetings with – she’s totally cool and brilliant, by the way, I’m so excited to start – mentioned a rumor she’s heard from a few undergrads about _unusual_ things happening at these raves and something about a UCL student, a rugby player, going missing after attending one. I haven’t seen anything in the news about that, though, so maybe it is just that, a rumor.”

“Hmm…”

“You think it might be related?”

“Don’t know but _unusual_ sounds right up my dark and spooky alley. Thanks, Dawn.”

“No problem, I’ll let you know if I hear anything more concrete. You mentioned another thing?” she added with a discreet glance at her wristwatch.

“Yeah, um, but it can wait if you’re in a hurry.”

_Coward._

Dawn crossed her arms and sat back in her chair. Damn she had gotten insanely good at reading her.

Buffy sighed and advised, “Promise me that you’ll stay calm.”

“The surest way to guarantee that someone _won’t_ stay calm is to tell them to stay calm.”

_Well, that’s… true. She’s always been smart but when did she get so wise?_

Buffy took a fortifying sip of her latte, swallowed hard and disclosed, “When I told you about Archbishop’s Park, I left something out… b…but only because I wasn’t even sure I’d see him again.”

“Him?” Dawn arched an eyebrow at her.

“Spike.”

“Spike?!?!”

Predictably, the original _Team Spike_ Summers sister shot forward in her seat, eyes wide. In response to her older sister’s raised eyebrows, she took a deep breath, relaxed into her seat, and said, “I’m calm. Now spill _._ ”

“Isn’t much to spill,” Buffy replied with a shrug then continued,

“He stumbled upon me fighting the fledges then gave me a lift back to HQ. Turns out he has a house here.”

“Spike _lives_ here? But I thought he has been in L.A. ever since…”

“He hasn’t been here long, a few months, maybe. I don’t think he intends to… stay. At least not fulltime. I don’t know, really. He wasn’t exactly forthcoming with the undead plans.”

“But you’ve seen him since, right? You said you didn’t mention it because you weren’t sure you would.”

“Yeah, I… got his address and… went over… and wipe that smirk off your face, it was after the incident with the fledge last weekend. In the park he mentioned encountering one recently, so I wanted to tell him about it and ask if he had any ideas about what’s going on.”

_“So, that's all. You've just come to pump me for information.”_

Wasn’t the whole truth, or even most of the truth, then. Now? Buffy knew better than to lie to herself, but it was complicated, and she really didn’t want to talk about it. Dawn appeared less than convinced but, thankfully, let it go and inquired, “Did he?”

“Not really, he’d been… away for a few days. But we’ve agreed to share information to get to the bottom of it. I’ll read him in on the pop-up raves, see what he thinks.”

“You do that,” Dawn replied wryly into her cup as she drained what was left of her macchiato then, grabbing her messenger bag and rising from her chair, added, “Really hate to bail on _this_ news but I have a lecture at the British Museum in 45 minutes and, well, the trains. I’d totally skip it but I’m meeting a friend and she already has tickets for us.”

“Go, have fun. Call me over the weekend.”

“Will do. You know, that’s _tonight,_ right?” Dawn gestured at the card advertising the rave and continued, “Maybe you should check it out… bring Spike. See what he… _thinks.”_

_Smartass… but not the worst idea._

“Goodbye, Dawn,” Buffy offered pointedly.

Her sister saluted then turned and took a step away from the table then stopped and turned around again. Her expression now thoughtful, she asked, “How _is_ he?”

“He’s… _good_ … he’s… _Spike._ I filled him in on what you’ve been up to, by the way, and he’s impressed. Actually, what worried him most about the fledges was the idea of you having to look over your shoulder while out at the pub with friends on a study break.”

“Oh, that’s…” Dawn muttered, blinking her gaze to the floor.

For the first time in a long time Buffy saw an echo of her vulnerable kid sister and realized the extent to which they had been sharing the same baggage for years. And that baggage was bleach blond, denim and leather clad, and had just reappeared after staying away for half a decade.

“We’ll talk over the weekend,” Buffy assured with an affectionate smile.

Dawn nodded and smiled back then turned to walk away for good this time, waving through the window when she got outside before heading off in the direction of the Underground. Buffy continued to sip at the dregs of her latte as she contemplated the card on the table then picked it up and dug into the pocket of her denim jacket for her phone, which she was now making a point of keeping charged and carrying with her. She flipped it open to dial, hesitated, then flipped it closed and stood up. Exiting the coffee shop, she too headed towards the Underground. Although she would be going in an entirely different direction, towards Fulham.

**TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's 2008 so the majority of people have yet to make the move to smart phones. iPhones were still a relative novelty and only one U.S. carrier supported them at the time (not sure how prevalent they were in the U.K. but I assume it was much the same). I got my iPhone in early 2009 and people used to stop and ask me about it when they'd see me use it. It's funny what has changed since Buffy went off the air. And what hasn't.


	5. It's this I can't disguise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from the track "We Carry On," which is the song I imagine playing at the rave. If you are not familiar, and are curious, you can check it out here: <https://youtu.be/uyrHNQlyt1E>

Approaching Spike’s place from the direction of Putney Bridge this time, Buffy reflexively pivoted into the front garden of his neighbor and crouched beside the garden wall when she saw his front door open. She wasn’t sure why she did it, aside from the fact that there were still several hours of daylight left and it was unlikely to be Spike walking out into the late-afternoon sun. When she heard the door close, she scooted a little further into the garden and hoped that whoever lived there was at work and not peeking through the curtains at her as they phoned the police. When she heard a soft footfall, she crept up stealthily – grateful for her slayer skills and training to be able to do so without making a sound (audible to human ears at least) – to see a woman with a yoga bag slung over one shoulder opening the front gate.

An attractive woman. No, make that a _hot as fuck_ woman. Tall – taller than her anyway, just about Spike’s height – hair a mass of loose chestnut curls, long-limbed, both curvy and toned. _Willowy._ That was the word often used to describe a figure like hers. She opened the gate and stepped through it. When she turned to close it again, Buffy scooched down but not all the way so that she could get a look at the woman from another angle and see that, like her hips, her breasts were fuller than her own and even though she was wearing sunglasses it was obvious that her face totally lived up to her physique.

The gate banged shut and Buffy froze. If the mystery woman was heading in the direction of Putney Bridge, then it was possible that she might glance to her left as she passed to find a strange woman lurking like a weirdo in Spike’s neighbor’s front garden. As it was, several cars and two buses had already passed; she hoped that the self-absorption of urbanites on their way to their next thing meant that no one had noticed her there. Fortunately, the woman turned away from her again, strolling in the other direction then crossing Fulham Palace Road to wait at the bus stop. Which meant that she’d have to wait too – leg muscles beginning to lodge a formal complaint as she remained in a crouched position – or risk being seen.

Her stomach soured as she processed not only the woman’s inarguable hotness, but the implications of her appearance. Tousled hair, flushed skin, bee-stung lips, hips swaying just so as she walked away. Buffy recognized that look. Because once upon a time she’d worn that look. The look of a woman freshly fucked out of her mind by Spike. Leaning forward to press her forehead to the garden wall behind which she had gone all creepy stalker, Buffy groaned, “Why the hell didn’t I just stay in Cleveland?”

* * * *

If she had a shred of self-respect, Buffy would have left as soon as the coast was clear. But she and her self-respect had parted ways the moment she’d hidden rather than simply turning and walking off when his front door opened. Instead, she slipped into the dark, silent house and spotted on a small table adjacent the front door a more modest pile of mail than the one she’d retrieved a few days earlier. _Miss Perfect Yoga Ass 2008_ must have placed it there on her way out. She picked it up and made her way gingerly up the stairs. When she entered the living area, she noticed the door immediately to the right of the entrance slightly ajar. Swallowing hard she pushed it open and was immediately assaulted by the scent of candles and, less prominent but unmistakable, sex. Clicking her tongue, she stepped into the room to a once-familiar scene: Spike literally dead to the world in post-nookie slumber.

Which, as she knew only too well, was one of his better looks. One she had committed to memory while furtively dressing to slink away in the bad old days. In the dim light bleeding around the window drapery and flickering from the dying votive candles on the bedside table, she could just make out hair tousled into unruly curls, lush eyelashes fanning glass-cutter cheeks, lips stained a shade darker from use, arms flung wide at his sides, sheet riding low on his _oh-yeah-he’s-definitely-in-prime-fighting-shape_ torso that bore the faint marks of a lover’s attention.

Someone into yoga wasn’t a bad fit for Spike. Yoga developed strength and flexibility, both of which she knew him more than capable of exploiting to maximum potential in a sexual partner. She frowned at the thought then moved to the foot of the bed, leaned over and unceremoniously tossed the mail onto his stomach. His eyes blinked open, unfocused for an instant before growing wide when they settled upon her then darting around the room as he pulled the sheet up around his body. He rose to a seated position against the headboard, disregarding the mail sliding off him and onto the bed as he moved.

“Looking for someone?” she inquired as she crossed her arms at her chest then added cheekily (getting the drop on him had restored a bit of her equilibrium), “Just you and little old me here, Spike. Hey, are you naked under there?”

“Very funny, Slayer,” he responded, glowering, then challenged, “Ever heard of ringing the sodding doorbell?”

“Last time I was here you told me I should have made myself at home. Besides, that’s what you get for leaving your door unlocked.”

“Yeah, well, most things go bump in the night got more sense than to come in here uninvited, humans too present company excluded. Got a protection spell on the place to keep out the rest. Suppose there’s a reason you’re here, besides interrupting my beauty sleep?”

“There’s a lead – may be related, may not – and we agreed to keep one another posted.”

“Could’ve called.”

“Phone’s dead,” she lied, making a mental note to surreptitiously turn it off first chance she got so she wouldn’t be caught in the lie if anyone called.

“Don’t keep it charged, you’re just carrying around a paperweight, you know that, right? You mentioned a lead?” he prompted impatiently.

“Yeah,” she replied then pulled the card out of her back pocket, tossed it to him and explained, “Dawn gave this to me today. Said these have been turning up at King’s and other London campuses alongside rumors of the _unusual_ , one in particular about a rugby player from UCL going missing after attending a pop-up rave. This one’s tonight. Thought we might check it out.”

He looked up from the card to her with raised eyebrows and repeated, “We… check it out?”

“Unless you have plans or something,” she offered with feigned indifference.

“No plans. Just pretty thin to go on, is all.”

“Have you found anything thicker?”

“No,” he replied with a sigh then continued, “Not for lack of effort, mind you, but none of my contacts has anything more than vague reports of a handful of fledges who fight more like master vamps, and we know that much already.”

“Well?” She folded her arms again and shot him an expectant look.

“Alright then, but first…” He motioned to the door and insisted, “ _You_ get the hell out of _my_ bedroom so _I_ can get dressed then _you_ be a dear and run up to Hammersmith Bus Station to pick up piri piri wings from the guy there what does brilliant chicken.”

Wrinkling her nose, she responded incredulously, “You want me to buy _wings_ at a _bus station_?”

“Don’t knock ‘em ‘til you try ‘em, love. This isn’t just _any_ chicken so yeah. Don’t worry, not asking you to pay. My treat. Can reasonably claim a work expense if I want to, but can’t very well go out at this hour, can I? And what’s the harm? Have time to kill anyway.”

Her lips twitched ever so slightly at his use of the endearment that used to get his nose broken, but he didn’t seem to notice as he repeated his _now off with you_ gesture. She rolled her eyes then turned to exit the room, catching sight of the open door leading into what appeared to be a bathroom on her way out.

“We have plenty of time so you can, you know, shower if you want. I’ll wait.”

Then Buffy stepped out into the hallway and pulled the door closed behind her. Digging into her jacket pocket, she grabbed her allegedly-dead phone and turned it off then went into Spike’s parlor and flopped down onto the sofa like it was something she did every day.

* * * *

“Oh my God, this is _so_ good,” Buffy declared around a mouthful of chicken after biting into a wing.

“Said so, didn’t I?” Spike shot over his shoulder as he rooted around in the fridge.

“You should have seen the line, but it moved fast.”

“People on their way home from work, I expect. Everyone in the area knows the place,” he commented as he approached with two bottles of beer he set down on the table.

He took the seat across from her, grabbed several wings from one of the containers, set them on his own plate and dug in. They sat in silence as they scarfed piri piri chicken. Acutely aware of the darkly comic farce the last 90 or so minutes of her life had been, Buffy kept her gaze mostly affixed to her plate. On one level this felt familiar: the two of them falling in step to deal with a situation likely to head south if they didn’t get ahead of it. On others it felt entirely different. In Sunnydale she’d had a home and he had been the rootless interloper. Here the opposite was true. And, of course, there was _Yoga Girl_.

Spike was sharing his bed, and likely more, with someone, and this _someone_ was by all appearances a living, breathing human woman. While Buffy was sure she wasn’t living here with him – there was no evidence of anyone but him occupying the space – the girl in question definitely had the air of someone familiar with the surroundings. So, she had confirmed, the hickey had not been the result of a debauched weekend with a stranger. Which figured because Spike wasn’t really a love ‘em and leave ‘em kind of guy. He was the guy who stuck around to get left. With one glaring exception.

Except they hadn’t been _together_ when he’d _left_ , had _never_ been _together_ in the way she knew he had wanted since the moment he’d declared his love for her. In the days, weeks, and months after the destruction of Sunnydale, alone at night with her grief, she would lie awake wondering if they would have gotten there someday, if they’d had the time. Sometimes she would convince herself that yes, they would have, and her heart would ache. Other times she would conclude that no amount of time would have gotten them there and not because of _what_ Spike was but because of _who_ she was – she doubted her capacity to go all-in the way he had. Her heart would ache even more those times. Then one day she walked in on a conversation between Giles and Andrew and the late-night wondering stopped. Or at least changed. Since then, she’d mostly wondered if love was something that could literally burn away.

“Looking grim, Slayer. Worried about tonight?”

“What? No, not really, just a hunch. Probably end up being a waste of time, big old dead end.”

“Right, and you’re a slayer pushing 30 who’s changed the bloody world because your instincts are bollocks.”

“Thought you said it was pretty thin?”

“Yeah, but that was _before_ you agreed to go up the road to buy wings without grousing. Now I’m thinking you’re taking this seriously.”

She shrugged and commented, “Gotta start somewhere.”

“Cheers to that,” he replied, raising his bottle of beer.

_Oh, Mandy_ _  
Well, you came  
And you gave without taking  
But I sent you away_

“What the…?” Buffy muttered, furrowing her brow.

_  
Oh, Mandy  
Well, you kissed me  
And stopped me from shaking  
And I need you today  
Oh, Mandy_

“Where’s my sodding phone?” Spike asked no one in particular as he looked around with a frown.

“That’s your phone?”

“Yeah, lost a bet,” he replied with a sigh then hopped up to follow the sound of the 70s adult contemporary assault on their ears, through the kitchen and into the hallway, she assumed to where his duster hung.

“Yello…

Wouldn’t believe me if I told you. What’s up?”

Realizing who was on the other end of the call, Buffy expelled a heavy breath and took a fortifying swig of her beer then stood up from the table, bringing the bottle with her as she moved into the kitchen where she could see him, reclining on the spiral staircase in the hallway. Leaning against the counter and sipping her beer, she watched one vampire with whom she shared an intense personal history speak to the other vampire with whom she shared an intense personal history. Of course, they shared an intense personal history with one another dating back to before her great grandmother was born which, by all accounts, they had finally moved past. Yay for them.

“No.” Petulant in that way she remembered from whenever she would catch him doing something he shouldn’t.

“Why is it whenever some wanker kicks the door in you assume it’s _my_ fault?

Ok, fair enough, last time it _was_ me but how was I supposed to know she was _his_ sister… or _his_ fiancée? Left that part out, didn’t she, when she tried sitting on my lap while I was standing up.”

She rolled her eyes, picturing the two of them helping L.A.’s damsels in distress. And picturing the formerly distressed damsels asking if there was _any_ way they could _possibly_ repay them for their kindness. And heroism. And bone structure. And muscles. Gratitude expressed with fluttering eyelashes and pouty lips and perky bosoms, of which there was a virtually limitless supply in good old Hell-A. It was as if this entire day had been _designed_ to make Buffy feel pathetic. She took another sip of beer.

“Have I not been away for months, dear heart? Really think you’re blameless, and course you do, then must be Charlie’s cheesed someone off. Hardly a Dale Carnegie grad on his best day, you know it.

Now we’ve got that sorted, how’s everything else back at the ranch? Blue behaving herself?

Aw, that’s sweet. Tell her she can break my ribs right proper when I get back…

Yeah? Hate when she does that. Bloody uncanny, it is. _Her_ but not really, ya know? Think there’s anything to it? I mean, what would be the point… unless… think something’s… up?

Well, it suddenly goes tits up you know where to find me. Meantime got some low-level weirdness of my own to deal with here.

Can’t really say just yet, more of the same I told you about. Running down a lead tonight.

Yo-kay, later.”

Spike rose from the staircase and turned to meet her gaze. He did that head-tilt-half-nod thing then offered, “Sorry, rude of me to get caught up in conversation like that. Would’ve mentioned you were here but didn’t want to put you on the spot.”

Stone-faced, Buffy turned away from him and went back to her piri piri wings.

* * * *

Buffy was grateful for Mike’s services. Getting from Spike’s place in West London to the address on the card near Bethnal Green in East London would have taken forever on the Tube. The trip had been long enough in the car, although Mike was a pro and knew how to avoid the worst of London’s legendary traffic. He parked a couple blocks away where he would wait for them. He hadn’t uttered a word, of course.

As they walked the rest of the way in silence, a muffled thumping bassline signaled they were close even before they had visual confirmation, in the form of two well-muscled guys standing on either side of the entrance. Well, not _guys_ in the strictest sense of the word. The hair on the back of Buffy’s neck stood on end as she sensed Spike’s body coil in tension beside her. Something fluttered in her belly at the thought of walking into a fight with him, and it was different than the usual adrenaline rush that accompanied an operation. It was excitement. It was…

They engaged the vamp-bouncers without trading a single word or look. Neither of which had been necessary because she could _feel_ where he was and even though she hadn’t seen him do it, knew he’d shifted into game face. With her slayer senses going off like crazy as she traded blows with an adversary she realized, or maybe it was that she was remembering after years apart, that Spike had his own unique _signature_ , clearly differentiated at the base level of her senses, at a point deeper than consciousness.

When had _that_ happened? The last year of her old life when she had permitted him a sliver of the closeness he’d craved? The previous, harrowing year when she’d taken him into her body while resolutely keeping him at an emotional distance? The year before that when they’d fought side-by-side to keep Dawn safe? Earlier still? The very first time they had united to fight a common enemy? Even as she fought in the present, her mind flashed to a flushed teenager looking into the handsome face of a mysterious stranger in the alley behind the Bronze. No, it _couldn’t_ have been that far back. Could it?

The doormen were strong and fast but no match for the two of them and soon they were brushing dust off their clothing. When she looked up, she met his human eyes dancing with an amused satisfaction she hadn’t seen since before he had returned with his soul.

“Points to Nibblet, this is no dead end, if you’ll pardon the pun,” he remarked then pulled his phone from his pocket, hit speed dial, placed the phone to his ear, barked clear and concise instructions into it then hung up and put it away.

She nodded then gestured _after you_ at the door. When he tried the door and it didn’t budge, he gestured _after you_. She grinned and kicked it in. There were two more vampires to dispatch on the ground floor then they were ascending a staircase, following the repetitive, trancelike electronica and flashing lights to the makeshift dancefloor. On which they found humans, and only humans, moving in unison, in time to the music almost as if they formed one pulsing entity. He blinked confusion at her. She shrugged in reply. Well, even if there weren’t any more baddies to slay, at least these humans would stagger home in one piece tonight. Time to break up the party. They split up and commenced working their way into the mass of sweaty, undulating humanity on the dance floor.

Buffy watched as Spike approached a small group of young women and whispered something into the ear of one of them. The woman looked startled then puzzled then stepped back to get a good look at him. Puzzlement gave way to appreciation and she smiled coyly as she commenced dancing seductively, her buddies following suit in a half-circle around him. Buffy rolled her eyes and folded her arms at her chest. He shrugged, his lips quirking. The pain in the ass was enjoying this. And what was it with young British women finding men stuck in the 80s hot? She had noticed it before, and with men who _didn’t_ have _those_ eyes, eyes that with one look could make you feel totally naked under three layers of clothing; men who _weren’t_ walking, talking marble statues worthy of a spot in the British Museum. 80s nostalgia was definitely a _thing_ here but, sorry sweetie, this wasn’t 80s night, and it was time for you and your buddies to call it an evening.

She raised her eyebrows to convey _Well, get on with it!_ to which he rolled his eyes then vamped and lunged at the women. Buffy stood by the door to make sure that the terrified ravers stayed safe as they made for the exit, the sober hot-footing it, the less so stumbling behind them. The commotion had drawn out the _hosts_ of this shindig, who appeared on a catwalk above the dancefloor then dropped down to engage the party-crasher scaring away their snacks.

“Run! As fast as you can! And don’t look back!” she called after the last of the evacuees.

Confident that Mike was in front of the building to (no doubt, wordlessly) direct the more chemically-impaired among them towards the well-lit safety of Bethnal Green, Buffy literally leapt into the fray. She had counted six of them, a number Spike had managed to pare down to five by the time her boot made first contact with a vampire jaw. She felt good, loose but hyperaware, as she whirled and flipped and kicked and punched and staked, all the while acutely aware of Spike’s position in relation to her own. At one point, she lost her stake but felt her hand almost instantaneously close around another. She realized that Spike must have tossed it to her, and that she had caught it blindly.

When it was over, they ended up face to face a few feet from one another on the dancefloor, the lights casting them in a changing array of colors. Only then did it register that the music was still playing and, as Buffy stared into the demon visage so familiar to her, a female voice rather appropriately droned on about how she couldn’t describe the _taste_ _of_ _life_. Spike shook off his game face and took a step towards her as she took a step towards him. Then another, and one more, until they were virtually toe-to-toe.

They traded wide, knowing smiles. It was obvious that he had missed this as much as she had. For the first time since she had watched him burn, his eyes conveyed something that just a few hours earlier she thought she would never see in them again. Heat. Heat now pooling in her gut and making her tremble. He was still in there. _Her_ Spike. The Spike who wanted _her._

_Thank GOD._

Buffy swallowed back her relief even as she held his gaze. She could sense his fingers twitching at his sides and realized that hers were doing the same, the desire to pull him into her arms warring with her fear of what would happen if she did. They were like two livewires dancing around one another. Dancing. Dancing. Always dancing. This time, on an actual dancefloor. Then the music abruptly stopped, interrupting the energy arcing between them. Spike turned and Buffy looked past him in the direction of the DJ console to find someone slowly rising from behind it, hands in the air in surrender.

“Just the DJ here!” he announced then added sardonically, “Well, retired, effective immediately.”

“Can you sort the bloody lights?” Spike demanded.

“Um, yeah,” the DJ replied as he stepped out from behind the console and, shooting a nervous glance over his shoulder, paced to the far corner of the room where he killed the rave lights and hit a switch to illuminate the room.

“What is this place?” Buffy inquired, blinking at the sudden brightness.

“Old warehouse, soon-to-be refurbished,” the DJ responded when he returned to a spot next to his console, clearly striving to keep his distance, not that he could be blamed after what he’d just witnessed.

“Yeah, into posh flats people born and raised round here can’t afford,” Spike remarked. The DJ concurred with a shrug.

“And you are?” Buffy asked.

“DJ Fizzy, but friends call me Finn because, well, that’s my name.”

“Well, Fizzy Finn, you’re coming with us,” Spike insisted, adding, “Got some questions for you, don’t we?”

“But my gear,” Finn protested.

“Is insured,” he tacked on in response to the looks he received from the terrifyingly lethal people, if you could rightly call them _people_ – one most definitely was not… exactly?

“Dad’s in insurance… been wanting me to join him ever since I left university… looking like a brilliant idea about now,” he babbled as he cautiously made his way to the exit with the two of them hot on his heels.

Stopping abruptly in the doorway, he turned and nodded in the direction of the upper level then asked, “What about the kids tapped for the VIP Room? Think they left on their own?”

Spike frowned. Buffy’s heart sank.

* * * *

With Finn safely ensconced in the back of Mike’s cab, Spike and Buffy made their way to the second floor, checking room by room until they approached light bleeding into the hallway from under the door to what looked like it may have been a management office back in the day. They approached then Spike opened the door and stepped in, his body going completely rigid.

“You should… let me… _deal with this_ , Slayer,” he advised in a tight voice.

Shoving him out of the way, she responded, “Don’t be rid…”

The appalling scene in front of her cut her off. There were four fledges, two men and two women, literally newborn, huddled in a corner shaking and tearful as they clung to one another in utter bewilderment.

“What do we…?” she croaked, feeling slightly nauseated at the thought of staking them. They were all _so young._

“What? They’re monsters, pet. Orphaned monsters, compliments of us. You go on ahead to the car, I’ll sort this. Want to see if I can get any personal effects what tell us who they are… were… before I… I can get close enough, soothe them, make it an act of mercy.”

She nodded and, turning away from the wretched tableau, reached out to squeeze his hand briefly before stepping out of the room and closing the door behind her. Buffy all but sprinted out of the building, equal parts pissed off that they had failed to save those kids and grateful that Spike was there to make the horrific aftermath even a tiny bit less awful. Although she couldn’t help wondering, and worrying, what it would cost him. Whatever the fuck was going on, she _would_ get to the bottom of it and make the evil bastard, or bastards, responsible pay.

**TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea if the piri piri chicken place in Hammersmith Bus Station was open yet in 2008 but, if it was, you know Spike would be all over that.


	6. Hoping that I might be someone I want to be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from the track "Nylon Smile." Buffy also recalls dialogue from "Lie to Me."

Waking up with a start after too few hours of sleep, Buffy spent several minutes staring up at the ceiling and wondering if the events of the previous day and evening had really happened or if it had all been one really fucked up dream. This wasn’t a new sensation; it was one she had experienced from time to time ever since being called, usually after a particularly weird night. Weird was a relative concept for a slayer, of course – there was everyday weird and just plain weird, the events of the day before falling into the latter category.

_Yoga girl_

_Naked Spike_

_Best chicken ever_

_Barry Manilow_

_The rave_

_The fight_

_AFTER the fight_

_The fledges_

_Ugh_

She bolted upright, pulled the sheet aside, hopped out of bed and dug through her pockets for the items Spike had handed her in the back of Mike’s cab on the ride home. Setting them on the bed, she pulled together her clothing for the day then padded swiftly into the bathroom to shower. She had to speak with Giles as soon as possible because it had been no dream. It was as it had always been – the real stuff of nightmares happened when she was wide awake.

* * * *

“Good Morning, Buffy,” Giles offered with a note of surprise when he opened his front door to her.

“Sorry to bother you on a Saturday morning and, I’m sorry, I really should have called first. Old habits die hard, I guess. Have a minute? Or… I can come back later… or… call.”

“Morning’s blissfully free, was just catching up on a week’s worth of _The Times_. Please do come in,” he replied cordially as he stepped aside for her to enter.

“May I offer you anything? Coffee? Tea? Have you eaten?”

“No thanks, I’m good.”

“Well then, have a seat and tell me what’s on your mind.”

She took a seat at the end of the sofa adjacent to the chair she knew he would take and said, “There’s something up and I think it may be related to the oddly-skilled fledges popping up everywhere.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say _everywhere_ precisely. A sum total of four have turned up in recent weeks, three dispatched by you and one by, who was it, Rose and Lucy, I believe? But we take every report of the extraordinary seriously, so if you’ve any light to shed on the matter, I’ll take it.”

“There was one other report,” she disclosed as she took a distinct interest in the crown molding.

“There was? I haven’t received it. We really need to tighten our communications chain. It’s bad enough that you waited until Vi reported the other incident before speaking up about your own experience.”

“It slipped my mind, okay? And I already apologized.”

Why was it that whenever she and Giles attempted to communicate with one another in any meaningful way these days, she usually ended up feeling like a rebellious 15-year-old? She _had_ meant to mention the strength and agility of the vampires she’d encountered in Archbishop’s Park the very next day but in the shock of Spike’s sudden appearance, she had literally forgotten until Vi reported two slayers encountering what they assumed would be an easy-to-slay fledge that turned out to be anything but. Between that incident and Spike’s report, which had also gotten lost in the fog of emotion unleashed by seeing him again, concern overtook shock and emotion, making her certain that they had a situation of the bad on their hands. The _real_ issue, she knew only too well, was what she had left out of her original account, and which she had no choice but to disclose now.

“And the other report wasn’t… one of us, a slayer.”

With Giles blinking at her expectantly, she took a fortifying breath and just spit it out: “Spike came across one near his house."

“Spike… came across… near his… _what?_ ”

Off came the glasses then, “And you know this _how?_ ”

Wincing, she replied, “Because he was there… the… that night in Archbishop’s Park. He has a house in London, Fulham, he’s been here a few months.”

“Oh, for the love of…”

“It’s not what you think!”

“How can you make such an assertion when I’ve barely had a moment to formulate a thought?” he challenged as he returned his glasses to his face.

“Everything I reported about the fight happened as reported. It wasn’t until after it was over that I realized he was there. He’d seen me going into the park and followed me. He caught the tail end of the fight, that’s when he said the vamp hadn’t fought like a fledge and that he’d encountered something similar near his house. That was literally the first time I saw him. Until then, I had _no idea_ he was in London.”

“Nor did I.”

“I thought Andrew might have said something.”

“He’s been in Tokyo since the start of the year. Besides, he’s an emissary not a spy, Buffy. Unless circumstances arise requiring formal communication between us and _that outfit in L.A._ , I do not receive regular reports on the whereabouts of the principals. Of course, that doesn’t explain why _you_ didn’t see fit to report Spike’s presence in Archbishop’s Park or… you said that was the _first time_ you saw him?”

Buffy swallowed and replied, “I’ve seen him a _couple_ times… we… we agreed to keep each other posted if we got a lead on the fledges, and… last night we… we followed a lead to a pop-up rave in East London.”

“How very collegial of you and, yet, you saw fit to withhold this, what shall I call it, _cooperation agreement_ from HQ?”

“I told you, it’s _not_ what you think,” she asserted.

“And I’m telling you that you have _absolutely no idea_ what I am thinking.”

“Look, I know that you and Spike…”

“For God’s sake, Buffy!” Giles interjected.

“This is _not_ about _Spike_! Or you and Spike. Or anything that happened in the past. Or whatever may be going on between the two of you now. This is about being part of an _organization_ , an organization that _you_ made possible, that _you_ were integral in building. Do you think I haven’t noticed your detachment? I essentially nodded my assent when you announced your decision to hand off your duties here and embark for Cleveland, happily welcomed you back when you returned, stayed mum on the solo patrolling, thinking it might be something you needed to… to maintain a sense of yourself when so much has changed. But things _are_ different now, Buffy. Your personal life is nobody’s business but your own _but_ , when something occurs materially related to your job as slayer, your sister slayers _are relying on you_ to be forthcoming. You are no longer one girl in all the world. You are no longer a girl, full stop. You are a woman who must decide if you wish to remain part of the institution that _would not exist_ were it not for you because this… this… _whatever it is_ you are doing out there on your own not only disrespects your colleagues but also places them in danger.”

Buffy felt her face flush, in part because she knew he was right. Dropping her head in her hands she asked, “How long have you been holding onto _that_?”

  
“For some time, apparently,” he replied with a sigh.

“ _Now_ can I tell you what happened last night?” she asked as she looked up to meet his eyes.

“Please do.”

“Okay but let me make _two things_ clear first. One, there is _nothing personal_ going on between Spike and me. Far from it, take my word ( _and one perfect yoga ass_ , she mentally tacked on) for it. And two, we need him on this.”

Digging into her jacket pocket, she produced four ID cards and handed them to Giles, who inspected them then inquired,

“Who are they?”

“Four people killed _and worse_ before we… we… could stop it. Spike was able to get his hands on those before… he…”

_Does it get easy?_

_What do you want me to say?_

_Lie to me._

  
Buffy shook her head then continued, “We need to find out what we can about them, about who they were in life, and maybe it will help us figure out what the hell is going on. Now here’s everything, and I mean _everything,_ we know so far…”

* * * *

Buffy had no idea how far she had walked until she reached Hyde Park. Nor had it registered that dusk had descended into full darkness until, taking in her surroundings, she realized that she had walked from Fulham to Knightsbridge on autopilot, willing herself not to cry, or scream, by focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. Well, mission accomplished even if her feet were telling her that she should have either hopped on the Tube at some point along the way or worn different footwear. Ignoring their protest, she crossed South Carriage Drive and entered the park with the intention of cutting across the southeast corner to get back to Mayfair.

She was an expert-level angry walker. After years of patrolling, her main coping mechanism was to _walk it off_ which, sore feet aside, wasn’t the _worst_ way to manage unpleasant emotions. Beat the hell out of other, more self-destructive, methods. She could only imagine the look on her face but figured it spoke volumes that she hadn’t gotten a single _C’mon, love, give us a smile, it can’t be that bad_ along her journey _._ Probably because no one had dared. Of course, she had no one to blame but herself for her current emotional state. If you run your hand through a flame, you can’t exactly complain when you get burned.

She could have called. She _should_ have called. But with her Wednesday afternoon training session canceled due to a scheduled repair of damage from an old leak in the training room ceiling, and Giles otherwise engaged with accountants or lawyers or some other mind-numbing task associated with running a global organization, she had found herself with time on her hands and nothing to do. And so, even after lingering over a grossly overpriced latte and window shopping on Oxford Street, she had failed to talk herself out of doing the absolute dumbest, most potentially-humiliating, thing she could possibly do. But, hey, at least this time she had walked right up to the front door and rung the bell like a semi-normal person.

* * * *

“Buffy, I presume?”

Of course, _she_ would answer the door and, of course, she would smile what looked like a sincerely friendly smile that could light up a room and, of course, her enormous light brown eyes with flecks of forest green would reflect a combination of curiosity and amusement and, of course, her skin was divine. And, of course, turning and running away now would make the moment even more excruciatingly awkward than it already was so, instead, Buffy replied, “Yes, and you are?”

“Viveca, but most people call me Viv. C’mon in,” she offered with a nod as she stepped aside then added,

“Spike’s in the parlor, listening to his beloved Ramones. Only heard the bell because I was in the kitchen. Thought it was my mate come to run me over to my job, a bit early.”

_Oh, so you’re politely letting me know that I haven’t interrupted some gravity defying sex act? How gracious of you._

“I’m sorry, I should have called first.”

_I really should just have that printed on a tee-shirt, that I wear every day._

Buffy stepped past her then commenced climbing the stairs as one might climb to the gallows.

“Don’t be daft, it’s a privilege to meet the famous Buffy Summers.”

“Hardly.”

“Hey, girl, I’ve admired you and Willow Rosenberg ever since word of what you did made the rounds in the summer of ’03.”

Buffy stopped mid-flight and turned to her, “You… what?”

“I’m in the craft, and by that, I mean that Wicca is my faith and practice, but don’t have the natural ability or skill you’re no doubt used to seeing. Didn’t grow up on a hellmouth for a start. For me, it’s simply the lens through which I see the world and the light by which I live in it. I have a day job, two actually although only one has been paying lately, yoga instructor and artist.”

“So, you must have known all about Spike before you two…” Buffy had no intention of finishing that sentence and Viv appeared to pick up on it.

“Only in the vaguest sense, that there was a vampire who’d gone off and won himself a soul. Women tend to be front and center in the narrative in my circles. Though, you can well imagine my surprise when girlfriends drag me out to the pub on a freezing cold night when all I want to do is curl up with a book and my cat, and I stumble upon someone who was _actually there_. Not that I knew it at the time. Figured out _what_ he was straightaway, but just knew he was _alright,_ ya know, _different_. Took him _weeks_ to get round to talking about it. Got the full history of punk rock from New York to London back to New York again before he ever brought up Sunnydale, California. Mind you, don’t think I ever got the _whole_ story,” she tacked on knowingly.

_Points to you, you’re no dummy and, damn you, DO NOT make me like you!_

“Bloody hell, woman, where’d you g…”

“Look who stopped by!” Viv chirped, adding cheekily as she shot Buffy a grin, “Got to meet her after all.”

Even though she had her back to him, and couldn’t see the look in his eyes, Buffy suspected that she was in more danger of losing her life at the hands of Spike than at any moment since parent-teacher night. Turning around, she offered a wan, “Hey.”

And received visual confirmation of the murder in his eyes, albeit fleeting. With the slightest tick of his jaw, he turned away from her and back into the living area. Buffy continued up the stairs with Viv on her heels because, really, what else could she do? He stopped in the kitchen and turned to her, impassively. He’d fully regained his composure.

“Drink?” Offered over the Ramones, who were indeed playing in the parlor.

“Sure,” she replied.

“Bit early for you, yeah?”

“If it was too early, I wouldn’t have said yes.”

“Suit yourself,” he replied with a shrug then turned to reach into a cupboard for a glass.

The Ramones abruptly stopped, and Viv entered the room with her yoga gear slung over her shoulder, announcing, “Turned that racket off so you could hear yourselves think. Jan should be here in a jiff so I’m heading downstairs. What’s the plan for tonight?”

“Meet at 8:30 at the Odeon.”

“ _Apollo_ , Pops,” she teased.

“Got a different name every bloody week, was the Odeon in its heyday.”

“Scored tickets to see Nick Cave in Hammersmith tonight,” Viv explained then paced over to give Spike a quick peck, not quite on the cheek and not quite on the mouth, but on the _corner_ of his mouth in a way that suggested an easy familiarity. Buffy blinked away.

“It has truly been a privilege and a pleasure. I hope we have the opportunity to meet again,” Viv stated, holding out her hand.

Buffy took it and, with Herculean effort managed to smile back as she replied, “Likewise.”

“Later, Babe,” Viv shot over her shoulder as she left them standing in the kitchen.

Both Buffy and Spike were frozen to the spot until they heard the front door close. Then he finished pouring two glasses of whiskey and handed her one, walked into the parlor and flopped onto the sofa. She followed him as far as the archway then leaned against the molding and broke the tense silence.

“Aren’t you going to ask me what I’m doing here?”

Staring into his glass of whiskey he replied, “Any point in asking why you do _anything_ you do?”

“I thought you’d want to know what we found out so far about the kids from the rave, oh and Giles had Finn come by yesterday and give a formal statement.”

“And, again, I find myself reminding you that the phone was invented… What year is it now? Right, 132 years ago.”

“Ok, so I’m _not great_ with the phone. When other girls were talking for hours on end with their friends instead of doing their homework, I was out in the dark killing things.”

“Really. Do tell.”

“What’s your problem? I thought you wanted to get to the bottom of what’s going on, especially after what happened Friday night.”

“Do, but that’s nothing to do with why you keep turning up here. Your watcher know you’re here?”

“He’s _not_ my watcher and he doesn’t keep tabs on my whereabouts, but if you’re asking if he knows we’ve been working together on this then the answer is yes, I told him on Saturday morning when I brought him the IDs.”

“Must’ve loved that.”

“ _So_ not the point. We need to figure out what’s going on.”

“What’s going on? _What’s going on_ is that you keep sneaking over here, looking for yesterday’s daylight.”

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

A swig of whiskey then, “What it _means_ is that I recall the _last_ time you took to sneaking off to hang around with old Spike. Knew it when I saw you marching across Westminster Bridge like a suffragette. Knew it when I saw you fight in Archbishop’s Park and again Friday night. World’s changed ‘cause _you_ went and bloody changed it, and now you’re not sure where you fit in it anymore ‘cept maybe when you’re in the fight. Outta sorts so you keep coming to your _old pal_ thinking there’s something for you here to make it better or, failing that because we both know I was _born_ to fail, twice, make you forget. Getting warm, pet?” He snickered then took another sip of whiskey.

Buffy flashed over with anger. Straightening, she set her untouched glass of whiskey on the table and took a step into the room then shot back, “At least _I’m_ not playing house with someone to try to forget someone else! What, you’re finally going for that white picket fence with Ms. Right Now? Guess it’s something that it’s wrought iron not wood. Safer that way, even if I _know_ it’ll never make you _forget.”_

Draining his glass, Spike set it down as he stood up then, stalking towards her, laughed bitterly and responded, “Forget? Spent most of the last five sodding years with the tragic lost love _you’ll never get over_ even though you were a _bloody child_ last time he was in your life proper _,_ and _you’re lecturing me_ about _never forgetting?”_

“You have _no idea_ what I think or feel about Angel. How could you? You _haven’t been here.”_

Stopping a few steps away from her Spike remarked, “No, I have not, and you’ve had to do without your trusty old crutch. Long past time you look for another, Slayer.”

“Is that what you really…” was all she could manage to get out, her fists balled at her sides as she willed herself not to cry. Or hit him. She _would not_ give him the satisfaction of either one.

“I'm not an idiot... well, I _am_ an idiot but that's beside the point. Not that it’s _any of your goddamned business_ but Viv and me, we're just passing time, is all. Knew better than to imagine I'd be Viv's one and only for keeps because I'm _no one's_ one and only for keeps. Never was, just took over a century for it to permeate this thick skull.” He tapped his head for emphasis then continued, “Made that clear to her day one, which is the only bloody reason I’ve had the pleasure of her company since. Has things to do and places to be she does but, lucky for me, decided to keep company in the meantime and it's been nice. Still more than a blighter like me deserves but what can I say, get lonely, don't I? Not built to be the brooding loner like Peaches. She’s sweet to me, treats me with respect. Treats me like a man. Always has.”

“Well, sure, imagine that’s easy to do when your opening line _isn’t ‘I’m killing you on Saturday’_ followed very shortly thereafter by the actual murder attempt,” Buffy challenged with a set of her jaw.

“Wasn’t comparing but since _you_ brought it up, here's the thing, the _really important thing_ so pay attention: also know that I'll never be Viv's rock bottom and she'll never be mine. Because, rock bottom, we both know what that is, don't we, pet? Both looking at it."

His referencing their _absolute low point_ felt like a punch to the gut. She swallowed back bile and stated, “Well, if after everything we went through, everything _we accomplished_ , that’s _all you see_ when you remember then I guess you really _are_ better off forgetting.”

“There’s no forgetting, pet, you should know that. All there is, is learning to live with the memories, memories of bygone days. All they are now, right? Can’t hurt us anymore so long as we’re bright enough to avoid making the same mistakes, yeah? So, it’s in that spirit I’m telling you there’s nothing for you here. To go home, Sl… Go home, Buffy.”

Her mouth dropped open as she searched his eyes, incredulous. Seeing only steel, she shook her head then backed away. Turning, she stormed out of the house, slamming the front door closed behind her.

* * * *

By the time she reached HQ, her feet _and head_ were throbbing. Her physical discomfort paled in comparison to what remained now that she had walked off the anger. She felt hollowed out, cast aside, and _redundant._ She didn’t belong in Cleveland. She didn’t belong here.

_Where the fuck DO I belong?_

On that uplifting note, she dragged herself up the steps and was digging through her pockets for her keys when the door flew open to reveal Giles standing in front of her.

“What?” she asked wearily.

“Have you seen Spike today?”

Sighing she replied, “Yes.”

“Recently?”

“A while ago.”

“Do you know where he is now?”

“Out, I think. He has… plans.”

“Do you know where?”

Shaking her head in confusion, she asked, “Why does it… wait, what’s going on?”

“There’s been an unfortunate incident.”

* * * *

The Ramones were back on when she entered Spike’s house for the second time that day. She hadn’t bothered ringing the bell this time, hadn’t wanted to waste the time, and figured he’d appreciate that once he knew why she was there. She found him on the sofa, one leg slung over an arm, a bottle and glass on the coffee table in front of him. He looked up at her and frowned.

“Don’t take no for an answer, do you, Summers? What, spying and realized I’d been stood up? Come to gloat? Reckon you’re the reason. Viv probably figured there wasn’t room for her here anymore. Always been that way with us, hasn’t it? You walk into a room and don’t leave any bloody room for anyone else. The kicker is that she has the tickets. Couldn’t even get into the show unless I wanted to do it the old way.”

Buffy sighed and walked over to the turntable to remove the needle from the LP then turned to him and said, “No.”

“ _No?_ No to which part?”

“No, you weren’t stood up,” she replied solemnly.

He blinked at her then sat up straight.

“C’mon,” she advised with a nod. “There’s a car waiting downstairs.”

**TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Hammersmith Apollo has changed names at least once more since 2008 and, last time I was in the vicinity, was the Eventim Apollo.


	7. Don't you know life turns me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from the song "Plastic."

**St. Mary’s Hospital**

**Paddington, London**

Buffy was right on Spike’s heels as he practically sprinted into the A&E so when he stopped abruptly, she ran into him with an audible _oof_ that might have been funny under other circumstances. He didn’t seem to notice.

“Rupert.”

“Spike.”

She stepped out from behind him, swiping her hand across her face after getting a mouthful of duster, and watched as her former watcher offered his hand to the vampire he had once conspired behind her back to kill. Despite the circumstances, she couldn’t help but smile when the vampire took it.

“I assume Buffy filled you in on the ride over.”

“Yeah, much as she knows anyway.”

Buffy had filled Spike in on everything she knew. Which wasn’t much because she hadn’t stuck around long enough to be fully briefed before making rare use of a Council car and driver to take her back to Fulham. The _official version_ was that Viveca had been attacked on the premises as she was closing the yoga studio after her 6:00 p.m. class had ended. She was alone when the attack occurred at roughly 7:30. She had _fought off_ her attacker, who had apparently _fled the scene_ , but lay in semi-consciousness for up to 30 minutes before a cleaner found her. Of course, that version didn’t explain the layer of unusual dust coating her clothing when she was brought into the A&E, nor why the only statement she would give was to insist that someone contact Buffy Summers and, before fully regaining consciousness, repeatedly uttered the word _spike_. When a member of the investigative team ran Buffy’s name, it alerted the right people at the Met and Giles got the call.

_“She wasn’t…?”_ Spike had asked pointedly on the drive to St. Mary’s.

_“Bitten, no. Just badly beaten. She fought like hell, Spike. Not sure how she did it but whoever it was is dust.”_

And in conveying that bit of information, Buffy had realized that she did in fact like Spike’s girlfriend. A lot.

“Need to see her,” Spike insisted.

“Yes, of course,” Giles replied then continued, “She is conscious but under mild sedation. They are limiting her to one visitor at a time. I came here straightaway when Buffy went to collect you, brought along two slayers to remain here for the night to guard her room. They will be relieved by another team in the morning – she will not be left alone. I took the liberty of introducing myself and sat with her for a few minutes. Lovely young woman… and resourceful. Managed to get to her bag to retrieve a wooden comb with a pointed handle that her great grandfather had carved for her great grandmother when they were courting. Said she carried it as a sort of good-luck charm – good luck, indeed,” Giles explained then added with an apologetic smile, “But… and she was rather insistent on this point, she would like to speak with Buffy urgently.”

“I’ll go and be quick,” Buffy offered with a gentle squeeze to Spike’s arm. He nodded.

“Up the lift one floor you’ll see the ward desk just to the left. Check in and they’ll direct you from there.”

Spike turned to take one of the seats in the waiting room. Giles held her gaze for a beat, nodded, then turned to join him. Buffy pivoted and paced determinedly towards the elevators.

* * * *

When she reached the door to Viv’s room, she nodded at the slayers stationed on either side of it then stepped inside. Approaching the bed in the dim light, she inhaled sharply when she took in Viv’s appearance, the lacerations and bruising on her face, her left arm in a cast. Her eyes were closed so Buffy took a seat on a chair next to the bed and just sat for a moment, staring at her right hand, and wondering if it would be totally awkward to take it into her own. Fortunately, she didn’t have to decide because Viv’s eye’s fluttered open.

“Hey,” Buffy offered with a warm smile, adding, “I know you said you hoped we’d meet again but this is ridiculous.”

Viv smiled weakly and croaked, “Thank you for coming.”

“Of course. Jesus, Viv, what happened?”

“Jan and me, we run classes for the after-work set on Wednesdays then close but since I didn’t have to meet Spike ‘til 8:30, told her to go on ahead, that I’d see to it. And, suddenly, there _she_ was.”

“She.”

“Yeah.”

“Thing is, was still early, half-seven if that. This time of year, sun sets so late Spike can’t even leave the house until after 8:00 when the sun’s low enough on the horizon and still, has to be careful, keep to the shade on sunny days. Besides, Jan had locked me in. Windows were locked too, and I didn’t _hear_ anything like glass breaking, so… how?”

“If it’s an older building then there could be an entrance to the basement that nobody was even aware of. There are all kinds of tunnels and passageways, some dating back to the Roman Era or even earlier, or so says my braniac little sister. They’re uncovering stuff all the time on construction and demolition sites, like that amphitheater they found under the Guildhall. We’ll send a team over to check it out.”

“Thanks. Don’t think there will be any more unwanted visitors, though. This was personal. Need to sit up a bit… Would you mind?”

Buffy stood up and helped Viv adjust her bed and arrange the pillows to make her more comfortable then took a seat again and inquired, “What makes you think it was _personal?”_

“When she was mopping the floor with me, mentioned Spike by name, said he’d finally get his _reckoning_ when _Father_ got here.”

_Oh great, that doesn’t sound ominous at all…_

“Reckoning? For what?”

“Didn’t say. _Did_ say she was gonna _leave what was left of me as a prezzie_ – her exact words, I’m not likely to forget – on Spike’s doorstep. Said it was what I got for being a vampire’s whore and a bunch of other nasty things I’d rather not repeat. So, obviously, she knew a bit about his life here.”

“He’s not exactly inconspicuous in the demon world or, well, anywhere really,” Buffy observed with a shrug.

“No, don’t imagine he is,” Viv replied with another feeble smile.

“Anything else? I promised Spike I’d be quick. If I make him wait too long, he’ll probably trash the place trying to get in here.”

“Just, look out for him, okay? Make sure he doesn’t go off on a tear and get himself killed… dusted, whatever the correct term is. And know you’re a bloody superhero but do take care. If someone’s willing to hurt people he cares about to get to him, well, we both know you’re on the list. Top of it, in fact.”

“Listen, I…”

Viv put her good hand up to silence her and said, “When he did eventually talk a bit about his experiences on the hellmouth, he did not utter your name. Not even once. _Only_ time your name came up was when _I_ raised it, which usually shut down the conversation right quick. Then, couple weeks back, he was suddenly keen on a dirty weekend at the seaside, extra attentive, but at the same time _not really there_.”

Buffy felt herself flush and cast her head down, muttering, “I don’t know what to…”

“Funny thing is, wasn’t ‘til today I got round to asking what was up _._ Told him he could tell me anything, that we are above all else mates… and I mean that in the British sense of the term, Buffy. Friends. That’s when he told me that _The Slayer_ was in town and the two of you were _working a situation_ , like the _bad old days,_ is how he put it. And, voila, you turn up on the doorstep not an hour later. You should have seen your face. And his. Pretty hilarious, actually. Well, up to the brush with death. Day took a real unfunny turn then.”

“But there’s _nothing_ going on, I swear.”

“Not sure who you’re trying to convince here, but you should know that tonight was supposed to be a bit of a last hurrah for us. This always had an expiration date. He made that clear at the start which was fine by me because I’m moving to France in a couple weeks to start a yearlong artist residence in Orquevaux. Been in the works over a year, long before we met.”

Viv gazed forlornly at her cast and continued, “Suppose I’ll have this off by the time I’m supposed to start end of July. Or learn to sculpt with one hand.” She shrugged then winced.

“You should rest. I’ll send Spike in before he bites the charge nurse,” Buffy advised as she stood up. With a gentle squeeze to Viv’s uninjured hand she offered, “Feel better soon. Tomorrow, someone will be over from HQ to record your formal statement so, if you think of anything else, just tell one of the slayers to jot it down for you if you’re afraid you’ll forget.”

Viv nodded then let her eyes slip closed. Buffy quietly stepped across the room to the door then turned and called out softly, “Viv?”

“Yeah,” she replied, opening her eyes.

“I just wanted you to know that what you did today was badass. Like Sunnydale Hellmouth badass.”

Viv’s only reply was a faint smile as her eyes slipped closed again.

* * * *

Buffy was jolted awake by the half-empty cup of tepid coffee she had been holding hitting the floor.

“Shit!” she muttered under her breath then dug through her pockets in a futile search for something to use to sop up the puddle on the floor and wipe off her boots.

“Anyone ever tell you you’re a bloody menace?”

She looked up to see a tired smile, smiled back and replied, “How can half a cup of coffee make such a mess? There has to be some demonic force at work. Otherwise, it makes no sense.”

Slumping into the seat next to hers, Spike dragged a hand across his face and replied, “Well if there is, this demon’s never heard of it.” Looking around he added, “Watcher’s gone home?”

“Yeah, couple hours ago. I told him there was no point in both of us just sitting here, that I’d call the driver on call when you were ready to leave. Unless Mike…”

“Night off if you can believe it. Nice of you to wait.”

“The _Hello! Magazine_ from 2005 made it all worth it. Riveting.”

He chuckled then heaved a heavy sigh and said, “Viv’s mum’s heading down from the Midlands. She’ll go back with her to recover once they spring her from this place. Said our goodbyes. Won’t be coming back here, not with a target on my back. Meanwhile, I’ve no bleeding clue what this is about.”

“Until we do, she’ll be under Council protection. They’ll have an escort home then a local office will take over... or the closest... what’s nearby?”

“Wolverhampton. Birmingham.”

“We have an office in Birmingham. I’ll have Giles arrange it in the morning.”

“That’s… ta, pet.”

“You’re not working this alone. This is officially a Council investigation. I hope this isn’t going to be an… an argument.” She stopped short of saying _another._ Man, this day sucked, and was now officially _two days_ long.

“Won’t be. After what they did to Viv, want the Council, ASG and bloody Interpol on it.”

She nodded then said, “I’ve been sitting here thinking…”

“Yeah? Was bound to happen eventually.”

“Haha, but what if this is related to what we’ve been working?”

“Well, now I know end times are nigh, ‘cause I’ve been wondering the same thing.”

“Payback for breaking up the party last week?”

“Didn’t do that alone, though, did I? Bitch what attacked Viv didn’t mention _you_ by name, did she?”

“No, but she was attacking _your_ girlfriend at the time not someone from my… shit.”

“Don’t suppose Nibblet would consider moving in with you lot in Mayfair until we figure this out?”

“I could ask but she’d just laugh in my face. She’s stubborn as a mule.”

“Was made from _who_ again?”  
  


“You know, I could still make you walk home, and it’ll be light soon.”

“Point taken. Anyway, just grasping at straws. Know sod all about what’s really going on. Not like I haven’t cheesed off my fair share of nasty buggers over the years. Could even be someone from L.A. May have nothing to do with the other.”

Buffy shrugged in response then took out her phone and advised, “I don’t know about you, but I’m going to need sleep before I attempt any more thinking.”

* * * *

Once in the back of the Council car, they settled into an amiable silence. The earlier conflict, while not forgotten, had taken a backseat to the problem at hand. She had to give it to them: they tended to be at their best in a crisis.

A hint of a smile playing on her lips, Buffy inquired wryly, “Am I going to regret asking what the ‘old way’ was for getting into concerts?”

Spike emitted a soft snort and retorted, “Think you already know that.”

“I’m so sorry this happened Spike, that the two of you didn’t get to enjoy your night out, that she got hurt. I’m just glad that she’s going to be okay.” He nodded diffidently.

“Although, I think I may have developed a crush on your girlfriend so, ya know, awkward. I like her. She’s tough, smart. Giles is definitely impressed. She’d have made a heck of a Scooby back in the day, don’t you think? Uh… Spike?”

He shook off the faraway look in his eyes and responded, “Sorry, hearing you say admiring words about Viv set my mind wandering to a happy place. You were saying?” Buffy rolled her eyes at him. He shrugged, his lips quirking.

“May have a soul. Never claimed I was bucking for sainthood.”

Buffy turned her gaze out the window at pre-dawn London, a faint smile returning to her lips. The thinking she’d been doing in the waiting room hadn’t only been about who might be behind Viv’s attack and why. She had also thought about what Spike had said to her earlier when they’d argued. This was _so_ _not_ the time to get into it again, but they would need to clear the air, and soon. Both he and Giles were right, she had shit to figure out, she couldn’t deny it, but it wasn’t as though her present _meh_ had made Spike materialize out of thin air. And it wasn’t as though she had known he was in London and tracked him down. _He_ had made his presence known to _her_.

Viv’s observations had confirmed what she already suspected: that she wasn’t the only one who’d been carrying around baggage since Sunnydale. They needed to do some unpacking, and soon, because there was obviously too much at stake for them to be at each other’s throats. There was a big bad out there gunning for Spike and hurting people he cared about, some of whom were also people she cared about. And she cared about Spike, deeply, whether he wanted to believe it or not. It was time to get to work. The car slowed to a stop, and she realized they had arrived at Spike’s just as the sky was taking on a pinkish glow.

“Well,” he commented on a weary sigh as he opened his door. “Been a fairly typical night for the old folks, hasn’t it?”

She sighed and shook her head. He was halfway out of the car when he stopped, sank back into his seat, and turned towards her. He reached for her right hand, pulled it to him and placed a gentle kiss to it. He continued to hold her hand in his as he offered, “Thank you for everything, Buffy.”

He let go of her hand and as she withdrew it, swallowed the emotion unleashed by his gesture and asked, “See you later? We can send a car around later about 8:00. Or earlier… if you want. We have a car with special vampire-friendly windows.”

“Do you now?” He raised an eyebrow at her.

“Yeah, the new Council’s official position is that not _all_ vampires deserve to dust.”

“I’ll call you, yeah? You should get some kip too.”

“I will, now you should get inside unless you want the early risers in the neighborhood to see you leaving a trail of smoke into the house. Good luck trying to explain that one.”

He shot her a quick smile then climbed out of the car once more, this time shutting the door behind him. She watched as he entered the gate and ambled up his front walk. When he got to the door, he turned to see her watching him. They exchanged one more lingering look before he went inside just as dawn was breaking on what promised to be a beautiful sunny day.

Buffy really should have been exhausted, and probably was, but she didn’t _feel_ tired. She felt wide awake. Leaning forward in her seat she offered, “Hey, Gary, you hungry? I’m starved. Smithfield Market for breakfast before you knock off for the day?”

Smiling at her through the rear-view mirror the driver replied, “It would be my pleasure, Ms. Summers.”

Flopping back in her seat as the car pulled away, she said, “Cool, and it’s Buffy.”

**TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I adore Spike, eyeballs to entrails, when I give him an 'other,' it's someone likable because she has attributes of women in my life that I admire and love. His lost love, Sarah, in Class Protector was loosely based on an amazing young woman I had the immense privilege to know who was taken from this world far too soon, and Viv shares some attributes with a former colleague who has become a dear friend and is, thankfully, alive and well and embarking on a path as an artist and craftswoman. I also personally have no time for women v. women cattiness. Our culture feeds us enough of that crap.


	8. I’m always so unsure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from the track "Threads."

Buffy was taut with nervous energy as she paced the empty library, stopping periodically to glance up at the clock or down at the phone in her hand, one moment willing it to ring to signal that he was outside, the next praying it wouldn’t if it meant that he’d changed his mind. Since they would be burning the midnight oil, Giles had popped out for a quick bite. She had declined his offer to join him just as she had declined Vi’s offer to watch a movie with her and some of the girls, opting instead to wait alone in the library. To wait to welcome Spike to Council HQ. With a stomach full of butterflies.

She had managed a few hours of fitful sleep before getting up, taking a quick shower, throwing on workout gear and spending most of the afternoon training with the slayers. The physical activity had felt good, quieted her racing mind as she’d awaited Spike’s call, which had come around 5:30. She had showered again, taking more time and paying significant attention to her hair then applying light makeup. By the third wardrobe change, she had admitted to herself a desire to _impress him_ for some reason, to put her best face forward as she introduced him to the new Council, to _her_ Council. Probably because he seemed so at ease with himself now, so irritatingly comfortable with his place in the world, a world so different from the one they had previously inhabited together. While she… well, not so much.

It was just after 10 when her phone rang. Buffy swallowed and took a fortifying breath before answering it, fashioning her voice into a neutral tone as she greeted the caller, “Hey, you outside?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll be out in a minute.”

After hanging up, she forced herself to count to ten before exiting the library. The last couple weeks had been an emotional rollercoaster, the likes of which she had not experienced since Sunnydale. This wasn’t the old Spike who would automatically fall in step beside her at the snap of her fingers. The years since she’d watched him burn had changed him, changed her too, shifting their dynamic. And yet, the way he’d looked at her in the warehouse after the fight, the look in his eyes when he’d kissed her hand that morning… Never mind that while the woman he’d been seeing still lay in a hospital bed recovering from a vicious attack (although Giles had reported that she would likely be released tomorrow), Buffy had spent a half hour blowing out her hair just so because, apparently, after fighting evil for years evil had apparently rubbed off on her.

_You suck,_ she mentally chastised herself as she opened the door. Stepping outside, she swore her heart skipped a beat. She had expected Mike to drop him off, but he had instead arrived on a motorcycle, on which he sat looking supremely unconcerned and totally cool. Like a fucking rock star. An image flashed in her mind of Spike speeding off into the night with Viv coiled around him, and her chest fluttered with jealousy. _You really, really suck,_ she silently amended.

“Sweet ride,” she observed.

He shrugged and climbed off, moving in that way he did, all grace with those lean, long limbs of his. His physical presence was at least familiar. She knew it well, first from fighting him then from… Then he was standing two steps down from where she stood, blinking expectantly at her under raised eyebrows. Feeling like an idiot and needing to level the playing field she made a show of flicking a lock of hair from her shoulder and was inwardly pleased when his eyes tracked to it before quickly averting.

“Welcome to the International Council of Slayers and Watchers, Spike. Please come in,” she offered collegially.

His eyes caught something over her shoulder, his lips twitched, and he remarked, “Wasn’t expecting the welcome wagon.”

Furrowing her brow, she turned to see Vi standing in the foyer, her arms folded and wearing a faint smile. The staircase behind her was lined with slayers. Buffy turned back to him and shrugged then turned again to step into the building.

“Hello, Slayer,” he offered with a nod, addressing Vi.

Her smile widened at the respect in his tone, she held out her hand to him and responded, “Hello, Spike. Welcome.”

He took it then asked in a charming purr while expertly casting his blues up the staircase, “And who are these lovelies?”

Several of the girls blushed, a couple gasped audibly, and at least one appeared to be literally drooling. They were, to a one, riveted to the spot. Buffy rolled her eyes. Vi shot a glance between her and Spike then, gesturing from the bottom of the staircase to the top, replied, “This is Efa, Dara, Sian, Rose, Sumiya, Eleanor, Fiona and Kate. There are eight other slayers stationed here right now, two you met last night – Lucy and Tasmin – they’re back on duty at St. Mary’s. Grace and Mel are probably upstairs asleep since they’ll be relieving them in the morning and will accompany your… friend and her mother home from the hospital. They will leave them in the very capable hands of slayers from the Birmingham office. We also have two teams out patrolling. I’m sure you’ll have the opportunity to meet everyone eventually.”

“In the meantime, we have work to do,” Buffy advised pointedly, adding, “We’ll wait in the library for Giles. He should be back soon. Goodnight, ladies!”

She could feel ten sets of eyes on her back as she led Spike into the library, rolling her eyes at a smirking Vi when she turned to close the door behind them. She watched as he looked around the room then met her eyes, sniffed and asked, “My memory wonky or is Red the Younger cuter than I remember? Seem to recall she was all elbows back then.”

_Ok, now he’s just winding you up._

“That was five years ago, Spike. She grew up,” she replied evenly.

He shrugged then strolled over to the bookcases lining one of the walls and walked along it, occasionally stopping to run his finger across the spine of a volume, then moving on. She walked along the opposite wall. They each turned at the far end of the room, approaching one another slowly until they were almost toe to toe.

“Well?” she asked softly, barely above a whisper. “What do you think?”

“About?” he replied, equally softly. He was trying not to look at her hair, his hands doing that fidgety thing like the night of the rave, and she felt warmth creep up her body.

Nodding at her surroundings she said, “All this, the Council.”

“Think it’s bloody brilliant, Slayer. Like a well-oiled machine, I reckon. And I’ll say it again because it bears repeating, you lot doing right by Viv, won’t forget it.”

“It’s our job, it’s what we do. Besides, none of this, and none of us, would even be here if you hadn’t done what you did back there… back then. I haven’t forgotten.”

He tilted his head ever so slightly, eyes boring into hers as he stated, “Would do it again.”

Then he did reach up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, his hand lingering a moment as he muttered, “Hundred times, thousand if need be.”

Her breath hitching, Buffy began, “Spike, I…”

“Ah, you’re both here, very good,” Giles announced, bounding into the room.

The spell broken they turned away from each other and towards him, each slipping into a mask of calm indifference to one another.

“Come a long way since the Magic Box,” Spike commented as he approached the desk behind which Giles now stood. Buffy stayed where she was, leaned back against the bookcase, and folded her arms.

“Yes, rather,” the watcher replied with a nod at one of the guest chairs in front of his desk and added, “Please, do have a seat. Has Buffy had a chance to fill you in on what we’ve learned about the four unfortunate young people you… encountered at the warehouse last week and from speaking with Finn Beacham?”

“No,” Buffy replied casually. “Something came up before I had a chance yesterday afternoon.” _Yeah, like a nasty argument dredging up the bad old days._ “And last night, well, Viv was the priority.”

“Of course,” Giles concurred with a nod then continued, “Well, then, we should get to it. I assume that the four fledges you encountered at the rave were unknown to you when they were living?”

“Never saw ‘em before, no.”

“Yes, well, two were UK nationals, one born and raised here and the other in Southern Scotland, Dumfries, one was originally from the Czech Republic and the other from Spain. The two from the Continent had each arrived in the UK within the last year. Thing is, they were all estranged from their families for one reason or another, having been out of contact for at least six months. The four ranged in age from 18 to 20.”

“People who wouldn’t be missed if they went missing isn’t exactly unusual. Makes it easier. Families are… messy,” Spike explained, adding, “In this day and age, hard enough to stay under the radar. Cameras everywhere. Media. The Internet. Were they living rough? Suppose those are the only invisible people left, poor sods. With all the slayers about, homeless – addicts, runaways, broken people – are most of the innocent targets of the demon world in L.A., though there’s still plenty of wankers go courting trouble.”

“We’ve found what appear to be valid addresses for two, and they were employed part-time, a third was apparently enrolled in college although where she was living remains unknown. The fourth, the young man from Spain, we know the least about. Not sure how he was getting by.”

“I have a pretty good idea,” Spike replied with a frown.

“Which makes no sense,” Buffy interjected. “Why drop these cards at places like King’s and UCL where, let’s face it, the student body is made up of the kind of people who _would be missed.”_

“Because humans are by nature a hopeful lot,” the vampire observed. “These kids hadn’t been on their own so long as to lose hope. Still dreaming of making connections, belonging, getting it together one day. Already developed some street smarts, sure, but they happen upon an invite to a rave, where they know other kids will be, and that hope might override their self-preservation skills. ‘Course, they might have just been there dealing drugs, or their own bodies, to get by,” he added with a shrug.

“So, you think the university students were invited as props?” Giles asked.

“Wouldn’t carve it in granite but it’s the best explanation I can come by top of my head. You lot may have been studying us for millennia but, news flash, we’ve been studying you too. Evolving right along with human society in order to survive. It isn’t all about fangs and brute force. What did the whelp from the warehouse say?”

“Like he told us in the taxi, it was his second gig for the people throwing the rave, that he’d answered an ad he saw posted in a record shop in Camden. That the hosts paid him in cash, upfront. They made the agreement by phone when he’d called, left him 50% of the cash in his mail slot along with an address and the rest when he showed. They weren’t exactly chatty, but they paid well and let him be. He told Giles that he didn’t see anything _unusual_ either night until we showed up. At both raves he worked, there was a ticket you got at the door and if your ticket was selected after his first set, you won entrance to a VIP area. He didn’t see the kids who won the first night leave but assumed that was because they had left by another exit.”

“And I reckon the fix was in; they knew exactly who they were handing the winning tickets to hell. If they showed up, poor bastards didn’t stand a chance.”

“Except someone did,” Giles explained, continuing, “When I interviewed him, the Beacham lad remembered that one of the winners the first night declined the invite because she was dancing with a lad and they appeared to be getting on well together. When one of the hosts pressed the issue, the young man stepped in to make it clear that she would not be joining them. Only way to overrule him would have been to make a scene, which would have been counterproductive no matter how they _dealt with it._ He lost sight of the couple and didn’t think any more of it, but later when the rave ended and attendees were filing out, he had seen her on her own and looking anxious as she left the premises with the others. If she got out alive then…”

“We need to find her,” Buffy stated.

“What about the bloke?” Spike inquired.

“Our inquiries have yielded confirmation of a student enrolled at UCL, a freshman member of the Rugby Club, going missing right before the end of term. Didn’t turn up for his exams. Nobody has seen hide nor hair since. His family, who are somewhat prominent, have been keeping it out of the papers because they believe he’s off on some misadventure – he’s apparently been in some trouble before with drugs although he’d made real strides in his sobriety and health of late. The Met has been playing this close to the vest, in part because they suspect this may be our jurisdiction not theirs. My contact emailed his photo late this afternoon, which I have in turn forwarded to Mr. Beacham. I am hoping to hear from him shortly as to whether or not he recognizes the young man in the photo because, if I were to put two and two together, I would posit that the missing student and the young man who stood up for his dance partner are one in the same, and that he paid for his chivalry with his life."

“Wouldn’t doubt it. Vampires don’t take kindly to _no_ ,” Spike remarked, casting Buffy a knowing sidelong glance. She looked up at the ceiling. “No matter that _letting it go_ would have been in their best interest,” he added. “May be clever monsters but _monsters_ all the same.”

Silence hung in the air for a time, as Giles scanned his notebook and Buffy seethed over Spike’s pointed remarks. He was retreating again, rehashing old arguments she thought they’d long put to rest the last year in Sunnydale. She glared into the side of his head as he lounged in his seat, gazing lazily up at the ceiling as if he hadn’t a care in the world. _Asshole._ In the space of fifteen minutes, she had gone from wanting to throw her arms around him to wanting to throw him across the room.

“As for the other fledgling vampires encountered out in the field, all accounts indicate they were youthful humans when they died, late teens-early 20s, and recently-sired. While vampires preying on the young is hardly novel and would suggest these pop-up raves as an obvious breeding ground, so to speak, their fighting ability _is_ rather. Thoughts?” Giles inquired.

“Some trick of the trade or another. Our kind’s been around a long time. Comes to vampires, there is literally nothing new under the sun, if you’ll pardon the pun. Always used whatever we could to get a leg up. Remember the Gem of Amara, pet? ‘Course, it could be the sodding government, which government is anyone’s guess take your pick they’re all up to no good, experimenting again for all I know. Initiative didn’t invent it. They’ll do it again, if they haven’t already. Somebody always does. Humans are wonderfully predictable,” Spike tacked on with a sigh then paused a moment and considered, “But these four, hardly knew what was up. Like infants they were and by that, I mean newborn living human babies. Fledges may be a bit soft in the head, need a mo’ to figure out which end is up, but they can function. These four…” He frowned at the memory.

“Makes me wonder, though. Ya know how the reason human babies come out half-cooked and totally helpless is because of their giant melon heads, what’s required for the development of the complex human brain, attached to scrawny, weak, wet noodle bodies so they can make the trip out of mum?”

Buffy’s eyes widened. Spike the _biologist?_ Giles nodded, his lips quirking no doubt at the vampire’s unique terminology.

“Wondering… if that’s something to do with their ability once they get their feet under them. On a much faster timetable, obviously. Start out helpless but end up more capable in the long run.”

“Interesting theory and, frankly, better than anything I’ve been able to come up with so far. So, assuming we are able to draw a connection between the missing student, the raves and the fledglings, that leaves the unfortunate business with Ms. Waters.”

Spike straightened in his seat, his expression darkening, and said, “Been racking my brain over it, on the phone with the office all bloody day, nothing coming to mind. Team’s on it there. Was a spot of vandalism at the office the other week, thought it had sod all to do with me since I’ve been here for months. Now I’m not sure.”

“Did Viv tell you, give you the description of the vampire? Apparently, showed its… her human face… first,” Buffy stammered, trying to avoid a linguistic trap he could spring on her later.

“Yeah, and no bell’s ringing there either. ‘Course, come across hundreds of vampires over the years, haven’t I, but none what should care enough to pull a stunt like that matching that description.”

“And this _Father_ business?” Giles inquired.

“Peaches and I are both stumped by that one but agree doesn’t sound good. Some wanker gets delusions of grandeur it’s bound to go tits up. My human father’s been dead a century and a half. My _sire_ is a _she_ and, far as we know, back in South America making questionable relationship choices. My _sire’s sire_ … well, we all know where he is, frowning behind a desk in L.A., sucking the fun out of _everything,_ soul stuck firmly up his arse _.”_

Buffy bit her lip as she tried to picture the two of them working together every day. It would probably be exhausting to be a fly on that wall but, she had to admit, they were probably pretty freakin’ adorable together in their finer moments. They _just had to be_ combing pretty, young things out of their hair. Her almost smile evaporated.

_You really, really, really suck._

“Did discuss the Big Daddy of our line, what the Slayer took care of years ago when she was hardly more than a sprog. Agreed it’s not likely _he_ found a way back but, if by some particularly perverted twist of the Powers That Be he did, pretty sure we’d know about it already. The git was 85 percent self-promotion.”

“So far there is absolutely nothing to suggest that this is at all related to the other business so we shall follow two separate lines of inquiry,” Giles commented.

“Except my gut,” Buffy stated.

“Mine too,” Spike concurred.

“Yes, well, until we have more than alimentary evidence, this is where we find ourselves. We propose engaging in a formal arrangement with ASG Investigations for your services. I can have the paperwork drawn up immediately for you or have it sent express mail to Los Angeles…”

“No need. Lot’s changed since the old days but I’m still not big on formalities. Said I’d work it with the Slayer, have done so far, willing to extend that to the Council proper in appreciation for looking after Viv and her mum. Besides, need to get to the bottom of what’s going on here, and deal with it, before I head back to Hell-A. Someone got hurt because of me. Not turning my back on that. Appreciate the help.”

“Right, well then, Council resources are at your disposal and we are prepared to bring you under our formal protection if you wish.”

With a snort Spike replied, “Thanks ever so but won’t be necessary. In my time I’ve fought the best slayer’s ever lived and yet here I sit. She didn’t get me, pillock with creepy nickname isn’t likely to.”

“She stopped trying,” Buffy asserted.

He turned to look at her, held her gaze for a beat – just long enough for that familiar something to begin to uncoil in her belly - then turned away again.

“If I’m in a spot I’ll come to you. Did before, didn’t I, and wasn’t exactly invited then… or welcome.”

“Very well,” Giles began as he stood and reached a hand across his desk. “I don’t think there is anything else to be done tonight. Thank you, Spike.”

The vampire stood and took her former watcher’s hand for the second time in 24 hours.

* * * *

Leaving Giles in the library to check his email and tidy up before heading home for the night, Buffy walked Spike out. On the way he caught sight of the antlered monstrosity adjacent to the door – which he must have missed on the way in what with the room awash in nubile young slayers – and scowled.

“What in bloody blazes is _that?”_

“The world’s ugliest coat rack, chair, instrument of torture. You’ll have to ask Giles; he loves the thing. I take it you’re with the majority on this one.”

“Just reminds me of someone, is all,” he muttered, tossing it another scornful look as he passed.

She shrugged and followed him outside, pulled the front door mostly closed behind her then called out softly, “Hey.” He turned to look up at her from the bottom step, his expression relaxed.

“Just, be careful, alright?” Buffy advised, looking around then meeting his eyes again.

The mask slipped and his eyes softened. He climbed one step, then another until he was close and responded, “Not me I’m worried about. You know it.”

She blinked her gaze to the vicinity of their feet then felt his hand in her hair again and drew a shuddering breath before forcing herself to meet his eyes once more. His expression was an agonizingly handsome combination of sadness, humor, and affection when he uttered, “You really do have the stupidest hair, Buffy Summers.”

She choked out a chuckle then, before she was even conscious of what was happening, found her forehead pressed to his. She could feel him tremble. Or maybe it was she who was trembling. Probably both. Time seemed to stand still until she felt his cool lips on her forehead and, _OHMYGODTHANKYOUJESUS,_ he was real, and he was here, and she had no idea what it all meant but she was just so _relieved_ after years of waiting and wondering if he was really gone for good. Then he wasn’t close anymore, he was moving away from her and down the stairs again. She watched as he climbed on his bike, looked up at her and shook his head.

“I swear, Slayer, you _will_ be the end of me.”

“Been there, done that,” she shot back with a shrug then thought for a moment and remarked, “You know, it’s too bad it was destroyed.”

“Wanna begin at the _start_ of that thought, pet?”

“The Gem of Amara. It would come in handy about now with these _really long_ days.”

“That’s on your Broody-Bear. Always has to play the martyr, can’t help but look a gift horse in the mouth.” Sighing, he added, “Probably just as well. Best to keep to where you belong, ya know? Reminded of _that_ lesson the hard way this week. Now, get inside with you.”

On that note he started his bike and, with one final salute, sped off into the night. Buffy stood there for a moment, casting her eyes into the darkness as she rubbed a chill off her upper arms before turning to head back inside.

**TBC**


	9. Looking out, I want a reason to repair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Nylon Smile."

After Spike’s first visit to the Council everything had gone quiet again. Fizzy Finn had confirmed the identity of the missing college boy which had hardly been a surprise but, other than that, they still had bollocks regarding whatever the fuck was really going on either with the fledges or the vendetta against him. Right frustrating was what it was, so Spike was relieved to have a distraction in the form of a package arriving from the States.

Clem, good buddy that he was, burned episodes of _Passions_ from the satellite, which was the only place you could see it anymore, and shipped them over. Eight episodes, two weeks’ worth since they had gone to a four episode per week schedule when they moved to the satellite, would arrive at a time. Like bloody clockwork. Clem really was a prince among demons. It was mid-afternoon and Spike was halfway through the current batch when he was feeling a bit peckish and decided to warm up a mug of blood. He was on his way into the kitchen when he heard a knock on the door and, with a sigh, turned down the hallway towards the stairs.

Peering through the small leaded glass window adjacent to the door, he saw her silhouetted in the shadow created by the overhang above his stoop that was a bloody brilliant convenience for a vampire welcoming daytime visitors without sizzling around the edges. He raised an eyebrow and opened the door to his guest. Fully taking in her appearance, a wave of affection and something approximating pride broke over him. She was magnificent. Stunning.

“Bit”  


“I… I hope you don’t mind… Buffy told me where you live and… and my plans for the afternoon fell through… and I…”

“S’fine. Mi casa es su casa but the Slayer isn’t here if you’re looking for her.”

“I know,” Dawn replied shyly. “I came to see you.”

“Did you now? Come on in then.”

He led Dawn into the house and up the stairs to the parlor, smiling to himself as he sensed her sizing up the place.

“Heard this is a cool part of town. Lots to do,” she offered. 

“That it is. Hammersmith up the road, Putney Bridge down it. Great pubs. New pubs. Old pubs. Footy. Well, Fulham which barely qualifies but… lovely spot of Thames here.”

When they reached the parlor he offered, “Can I get you anything, pet?”

Shaking her head, she sat down on the couch, gracefully, demurely, and replied, “No, thank you. I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“Nah, just catching up on _Passions._ Clem burns CDs for me and sends them over.”

Dawn smiled at the mention of the demon then said, “I heard it’s going off this summer.”

“Yeah,” he confirmed with a scowl then added, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Leaning against the molding of the archway and crossing his arms, he brightened and asked, “Well, then, what can I do for you?” Drawing in a deep breath, Dawn hesitated a beat then the words came bubbling out of her.

“I came here to apologize to you for the awful things I said to you back in Sunnydale. I… I was going to apologize after the battle because I could see that the two of you were alright, better than alright you were good, and that was okay with me and more than okay because it gave me hope that you’d be together and we could be a family but that sounds _so stupid_ , my stupid quest for a stupid happy ending, but then I couldn’t apologize because you were gone. And I knew, or at least I thought, there would never be another chance to apologize and that made me so sad, but I couldn’t dwell on that because I knew how sad Buffy was because even though she didn’t talk about it, it was written all over her. I think everyone saw it, but nobody would say anything because you know how she is about feelings – about having feelings and admitting to having feelings, and, oh my God, what am I _even talking about?_ ”

“Take a breath, Nibblet,” Spike advised with a loving smile then assured, “That’s all? Thought it was something serious. Summers women have been threatening my life for years. Still here, aren’t I? And if there’s any apologizing to do, I should be doing it.”

“I think closing the Hellmouth made it up to Buffy and I don’t think I have a right to…”

  
“Closing the Hellmouth did no such thing but I’m not talking about Big Sis and me. They were wrong to drag you into that back then. Was up to her to tell you about it in her own time. The _only_ version of what we… what happened that you should credit is _hers_. You understand me? Not theirs. Not mine. Hers. Got it?” She nodded, her expression thoughtful.

  
“Good, because I’m talking about you and me, pet. On the lam from the Hell Bitch then that long summer on Revello Drive when Buffy was… wasn’t there, we were best mates, yeah? But then she was back, and I was so caught up in our... well you know some of it and the rest is up to her to share, or not… that I lost track of you. Left you on your own. That was wrong of me and I am so sorry, Nibblet. I hope you can forgive me.”

Dawn blinked up at him, her unique version of those devastatingly large, soulful Summers eyes against which he was rendered utterly helpless open wide with surprise. Then her face crumpled, and she dissolved into sobbing tears. He was across the room in an instant, gently pulling her up and into his arms then rocking slowly on his heels. Until that moment he had not fully recognized how thoroughly he had managed to bollocks things with _both_ Summers women all at once. Banner year that had been.

  
“You ever need anything just ask and you know your best mate will come running,” he muttered into her hair as he held her. “Broad bleeding daylight. You, the Slayer, your mum... were, are the closest thing I’ve had to standing in the sunshine in over 100 sodding years. And there’s nothing stupid or wrong with wanting a family, pet. It’s nothing less than you deserve. So, tell me, what can I do to make it up to you?”  
  
She pulled half out of his embrace, wiped her face on the back of her hand and looked at him with a combination of relief and hope through watery eyes as thoroughly disarming in blue as her sister’s in green. Resplendent she was in her flowering womanhood. He realized that he would need to be restrained from tearing the arms off any man who gave her even a moment’s heartache, which of course made him a bloody hypocrite. He was so buggered.

“Well,” she began diffidently. “I could really use a movie night. The weekend’s almost here. How about Friday?”

Smiling, he replied, “Done. Telly’s not much but it works and got the DVD player right here. Could get takeaway. Fancy spicy Tandoori, pet? Snacks. Even hot cocoa if you like.”

“I’m 22, Spike. Beer or wine might be nice too. I’ll bring something.”

“Bloody hell.”

She chuckled and added, “There is one other condition, though.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she stated with a sly smile.

He was so buggered.

  
* * * *

Buffy folded her arms at her chest as she challenged, “Seriously? You know we’re in the middle of a _situation_ here _._ Two, actually, or one big one. We don’t know yet.”

“Exactly,” her sister responded with a shrug and continued, “You _don’t know yet_ and from everything I’ve heard it’s gone quiet since the attack on Spike’s friend, and that was over two weeks ago.”

“ _Girlfriend_ , Dawn,” she stated pointedly in an attempt to dissuade her little sister from doing, well, exactly what she was trying to do by insisting that Buffy join her for movie night at Spike’s.

“Okay, _girlfriend…_ not sure what that has to do with a couple old friends having beer and takeout and watching DVDs together on a Friday night. Besides, you already agreed to go out tonight and…” Dawn gestured at the empty library and continued, “It doesn’t look like _anything_ is going on here. Even Giles went home early.”

_Old friends… is she kidding?_

“You asked if I wanted to see a movie,” Buffy stated with a grimace.

“And we will. I brought _two movies_ actually and Spike may have more at his place.”

The elder Summers shot the younger Summers a withering look to which the latter responded with a huff, “Honestly, Buffy, what’s the big deal? It’s not like you haven’t been to Spike’s and he’s been over here more than once, right? I figure you two _must have_ broken the ice by now.”

_Depends on how you define breaking the ice._

While Buffy had not been back to his place since the night of the attack on Viv, Spike had been to Council HQ a few times in the ensuing weeks to discuss possible leads and areas of inquiry, even as the investigation ground to a frustrating halt. There had even been two, utterly fruitless, patrols with teams of slayers who, predictably, had been more preoccupied with the vampire at their side than the prospect of encountering a vampire or some other demon to slay.

Meanwhile, the two of them had shed the rawer emotion of that couple of intense days for a more formal congeniality that evoked their first tentative steps towards working together again the last year in Sunnydale. They were _being careful_ with one another. Well, mostly. Sometimes, when they were left alone for a moment or others in the room (usually Giles or Vi) were distracted, she could feel his eyes on her. She would look up to meet his gaze and hold it until she could feel her face flush then blink away again.

“You mean _besides the fact_ that knowing someone has it in for Spike and isn’t afraid to hurt people close to him, you traipsed over there anyway without consulting me first?”

“You told me where he lived!”

“Yes, but that was in case of an emergency, if something went _really_ wrong and I was… incapacitated somehow.”

“Which means that you _still_ think the safest place for me to be if you’re not around is with Spike.”

Buffy dropped her arms to her sides in defeat. Dawn had her there. If pressed to admit where she would prefer her sister to be in virtually any catastrophe, it would be between Spike and herself. Because, she knew, he would fight like an animal, to the death, to protect Dawn. Just as she would.

“C’mon, let’s roll. I told Spike we’d be there by 7:00 and I need to stop at an off-license when we get to Fulham.”

“Okay,” Buffy relented with a sigh then added, “But I need ten minutes. I’ve got to change and…”

Dawn raised an eyebrow, smirking.

“Oh, shut up,” she snapped then turned away from her scheming little sister and paced quickly out of the library, wondering what to do with her hair.

* * * *

_“Bloody hell, Bit, you have to pick two movies with the word ‘sunshine’ in the title? Trying to send me a message, are you?”_

Okay, so the night _hadn’t_ been the exercise in cringe-worthiness that Buffy had anticipated, at least not to begin with. In fact, it had started off innocuously enough with Spike and Dawn going back and forth playfully about the movies she’d brought: _Little Miss Sunshine_ and _Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind._ They’d eaten Indian take-out that Spike had ordered while enjoying the first film, laughing and even invoking the few, extremely brief, non-horrifying moments from their ill-fated road trip to try to protect Dawn from Glory.

For her part, Buffy silently recalled the bare-handed blade block Spike had pulled in that ridiculous Winnebago, saving her life, and making it possible for her to save Dawn’s. He hadn’t needed an amulet to be their champion then. Or a soul. Funny, it had taken years for that to occur to her.

The lighthearted mood shifted when Spike popped in the second film, which hit just a bit too close to home, being all about forgetting, or trying to, because it was too painful to remember. Stretching out on Spike’s sofa with her legs sprawled over Buffy’s lap, Dawn seemed utterly oblivious to either her discomfort or their host’s as he sat, arms encircling his bent knees, on the floor next to the coffee table. For her part, Buffy couldn’t enjoy the movie, feeling too self-conscious and aware of the tension Spike’s body had taken on. It was a relief when they were interrupted by the dulcet tones of Barry Manilow.

“What the…?” Dawn asked, lifting her head off the sofa as Spike jumped up, snatched his phone from the coffee table and made his way towards the kitchen.

“He lost a bet,” Buffy muttered.

“Oh… should we hit pause?”

“Don’t think he’ll care.”

“Yello! Charlie, what’s up?

Yeah, Peaches told me she’s been doing that a lot lately and I said…

She _what?!?!_ To _where?!?!_ Bloody hell, you going after her?!?! I mean, what if she goes blue again in the bosom of Fred’s dear, sweet, Jesus-loving family? Scare the living daylights out of them, she will…”

When Buffy heard his bedroom door close, she turned to Dawn and said, “ _This_ movie? Seriously?”

“What?”

“We are watching a movie, _with Spike_ , about a couple who had such a painful relationship that they each take steps to literally forget, and you’re asking me _what?_ ”

“Oh my god, I _so_ didn’t think of that, I swear. It came out our first year here when I was killing myself at school while figuring out college, my gap year and everything else, and it was just such a crazy year for _everyone_ that I never saw it… think I should turn it off?”

“Oh sure, because _drawing attention to it_ will make it _less awkward._ ”

“What do you think that call is about?”

“His life in L.A. His friends there.”

“How long do you think he’ll stay here?”

“I don’t know, we haven’t discussed it, but I don’t think he plans to leave until we get to the bottom of the attack on Viv.”

“But what about this place?”

“What about it?”

“It’s _his home,_ isn’t it?”

“It’s _a home that he owns_. Doesn’t mean he has to live in it all the time, or at all even. He could probably rent it out, make a small fortune in this neighborhood.”

“Well, I hope he sticks around for a while,” Dawn declared then sat up, swung her legs onto the floor and added, “Now, I’m going to see what he has in his DVD collection. I have no desire to torment the two of you. You’ve got that covered all on your own.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That means I need another beer. Want one?”

* * * *

When Spike reemerged about 15 minutes later, Buffy and Dawn were both sitting upright on the couch, sipping beers, and had just started _300._ He grabbed another beer from the fridge then resumed his position on the floor without uttering a word and was soon engaged in the narrative. Battles, blood, mayhem – this was safer, this they could do.

Well, until King Leonidas and Queen Gorgo started to get busy, which why _that_ was essential to the plot of a _war movie_ Buffy had no idea. It wasn’t a long scene, but it portrayed the kind of intense, passionate sex that, again, hit just a little too close to home. There was no way in hell she was looking anywhere in the vicinity of Spike but out of the corner of her eye, she saw Dawn shake her head and cast her gaze heavenwards. And _OMIGOD_ , there was literally a _best of_ – a position you had to be strong and flexible to apply to maximum effectiveness, which they had. Then it was mercifully over, and the movie reverted to grandiose dialogue and gratuitous violence, but it didn’t matter. The damage was done.

The damage being the image playing in the back of her mind of Spike on his knees in front of her in his crypt, lifting her pelvis off the floor and plunging into her again and again. Flushed from the blood rushing to her head she thrashed on the rug, her arms framing her head, her wrists handcuffed together over her head, her hands futilely scrabbling for something, anything for purchase until she felt the wall above her and braced herself against it to take the full force of his relentless thrusting, bucking, fucking. Fucking her until she screamed.

“It’s late,” she blurted. Both Dawn and Spike turned to look at her.

“So?” Dawn replied, blinking.

“We should probably get going so Spike can…”

_What? Go nighty-night so he’ll be up bright and early tomorrow? He’s a vampire, you idiot._

“Don’t leave on my account. Let the Bit finish the flick. The history’s bollocks…”

“Got that right,” Dawn interjected with a wry chuckle.

“But it’s a helluva ride,” he said, pinning Buffy with his too blue eyes.

_Oh, HELL no, you are NOT reading my mind!_

But he was, she knew it. He wouldn’t have forgotten. It was probably the hardest either of them had ever come, and with the amount of coming that occurred over that calamitous winter that was saying something. Part of her felt like bolting out of the house and running all the way back to HQ but, for one thing, she had already done that or something like it, two, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction and, three, Dawn would mark it as _proof of something_. She would never live it down. Plus, she was wearing the wrong shoes. Again. Instead, she held his gaze and said, “Fine, but I’m making popcorn. You better have real butter.” She hopped up from the couch.

“Don’t insult me, ‘course I do,” he shot back then turned his attention back to the movie.

* * * *

Dawn was sound asleep, snoring softly and occasionally snuffling in that way she did that never failed to make Buffy’s affection for her little sister swell in her chest. Well, except for this time when she was overcome with a desire to choke the life out of her. She settled for tugging on the foot in her lap, hard.

“Wha…?” her little sister muttered then drifted off again.

Spike appeared in the archway to the kitchen with a tea towel in his hand and offered, “Now it is well and truly late, even by my standards. Why don’t the two of you kip here? Bed upstairs is plenty big enough for you to share. Has an en suite, you’ll find things you need, towels and such.”

_A sleepover? Are you kidding?!?!_

“Remember what she was like once she finally went down for the count. Would fall asleep in my crypt then I’d have to get her home before Rupert or the witch tore me a new one. Didn’t outgrow it, apparently. Fancy dragging her across town, listening to her complain the whole way?”

_Ok, so you’re not kidding, and damn, you have a point._

The truth was that the prospect of hoofing it back either to HQ or Dawn’s place, which was even further away, in the dead of night didn’t appeal to Buffy either. The truth was she _liked it here._ The truth was that the nearly 150-year-old master vampire who’d once managed to make a _crypt_ feel cozy had made the type of home that she _wanted_ to be in, despite the fact that he’d told her in no uncertain terms that _she did not belong here._ But that was over two weeks ago. _A lot_ had happened since, not least of which was her kid sister reclaiming her position as his Nibblet.

She had no idea what had gone on between them on Dawn’s previous visit but, whatever it was, there was an ease between them that she hadn’t seen since, well, probably before she’d leapt from the tower. Which suited her fine because, if ever a situation arose in which Dawn needed her and she couldn’t get to her, she _knew without question_ that he would.

“C’mon, Dawnie,” she cooed, tugging on her sister’s feet again, albeit more gently this time. “Spike invited us to stay over. Let’s go upstairs.”

“Okay…” her sister murmured then a beat later her eyes shot open and she said, “Wait, what?”

* * * *

Dawn was sitting up in bed when Buffy came out of the bathroom. Casting her a dubious look, Buffy remarked, “Funny, you seem _wide awake_ now.”

“Just taking it all in,” her sister replied, adding, “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”

“Noticed?” Buffy asked as she shimmied out of her jeans before climbing into bed beside her.

“The girly products in the bathroom, the warm and homey décor. It’s comfortable. It reminds me of _home.”_

“Your place? I don’t see it.”

“No, I mean _home_ home, _our_ home.”

Buffy turned to her and asked, “You mean _home_ _on the hellmouth_ where our lives were under near constant threat?”

“I mean the home that we shared with Mom.”

“Mom was gone a long time before the house was.”

  
“I know, but right up to the very end I could sense her there sometimes, and I don’t mean in a First-Evil-reanimating-the-dead sort of way.”

“But… I thought… you were happy, that you liked life over here. You’re doing so well that it never occurred to me that you missed any of it.”

“Two things can be true at the same time, Buffy. I can love taking advantage of this immense opportunity I’ve been given and still sometimes feel homesick for a home that doesn’t exist anymore. As one of my favorite professors at Exeter used to say, ‘It’s just a _feeling_ , which isn’t right or wrong or good or bad, it just is.’”

“Well, that’s… wise.”

“Yeah, he’s a cool dude. I was almost tempted to tell him about my life, my _real_ life, but then I chickened out.” Dawn was silent for a time then slid down under the covers, turned on her side to face up at Buffy and inquired, “I know it was different for you since you bore such an outsized burden there but… do you… ever?”

“Yeah, I suppose I do. There’s _a lot_ I _don’t_ miss but there was something to be said for knowing _exactly_ _who I was_ there. Here, I’m not so sure.”

“I know who you are and so does _he_ ,” Dawn asserted, gesturing in the direction of the stairs, then continued, “And, whether or not you want to hear it, or he’s willing to admit it, this room is _our_ room. It just _feels like it_. It _feels right_ to be here.”

Buffy leaned over and kissed her sister on the forehead then whispered, “Goodnight, Dawn,” before turning to switch off the lamp on the bedside table.

Sliding beneath the covers, she lay staring up at the ceiling as she listened to her sister’s breathing even out, signaling that she had drifted off. Buffy tried not to think about the vampire lying in his own bed downstairs. Tried not to wonder if he, too, lie awake thinking. Tried not to wonder what he was thinking about. Tried not to wonder if he was thinking about her. Tried not to think about slipping out of this bed, tiptoeing downstairs and slipping into his. Tried not to think about how his arms would feel around her. Tried not to think about how his cool skin would feel against hers. Tried not to think about how snugly he would fit inside of her. Tried not to think. Tried not to wonder. Tried not to want. Tried and tried and tried until she finally drifted off, trying not to dream of his touch.

**TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always theorized that Dawn's attitude towards Spike in S7 had almost as much to do with feeling that he had abandoned her after Buffy came back as anything else, those feelings being inflamed by everyone's chatter about the wrongness of them. I mean, she was neglected by pretty much everyone in S6 except for Tara. Poor, utterly blameless, Tara.


	10. Enjoy the gift of my mistake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one gets its title from the track "Magic Doors." Buffy recalls dialogue from "Gone."

* * *

Buffy awoke to daylight streaming into the room through the skylights. Blinking, she had to think a minute about where she was then it came to her. She was alone and wondered what time it was. Reaching for her jeans she pulled out her phone and flipped it open. It was nearly 10. She sighed and leaned back on her elbows, taking a moment to appraise the room.

The peaked ceiling was charming. Built-in cabinets lined the walls, a wardrobe sat in one corner opposite the bed, a pretty wooden pedestal mirror sat in the other. There was a night table with a lamp adjacent to the bed on her side and a vanity with yet another mirror adjacent on the other. Like in the parlor downstairs, a large area rug covered most of the floor. The color scheme was pale green, salmon and cream.

_I ate a decorator once. Maybe something stuck._

Dawn had a point, _who the hell_ was this room intended for? Between the mirrors and the skylights, it sure as heck wasn’t for him. Besides, his room was downstairs. Just as cozy but starker, reds and grays, with a more masculine feel to it – a single guy’s room. At least that had been her impression on her one brief visit although, to be honest, she hadn’t been focusing on the décor. But this room, this room had been decorated with a woman in mind. It was warm and inviting and unabashedly feminine.

_You are SO full of shit, Spike._

“Memories of bygone days, my ass,” Buffy muttered then threw back the covers and climbed out of bed.

She took a few minutes to freshen up. Before bed she had scrubbed her face of the discreet hints of makeup she had carefully applied while Dawn waited at HQ, and she didn’t have anything with her to replace it. Gazing at her reflection, she determined that six hours of uninterrupted sleep was a halfway decent substitute. Under the sink she found a hairbrush that was similar to one she used to own, years ago, that she’d really liked. It had gone missing when she’d moved back home from her dorm room at UC Sunnydale, and she had assumed she’d left it behind in the move. She took a minute or two to brush out her hair then put it back where she found it.

As she was leaving the bathroom, she turned to look at the toothbrushes she and Dawn had claimed standing in the porcelain cup on the sink and her stomach did a little somersault. Then she switched off the bathroom light, finished getting dressed and made the bed. When she opened the door to leave the room, she was assaulted by the most wonderful smell wafting up from the kitchen. Descending the spiral staircase, she could hear Spike quizzing Dawn on the conjugation of irregular Latin verbs.

“Wait, is that right? No, shit, I always fuck up the pluperfect passive indicative.”

“I don’t know, it’s Greek to me,” Buffy quipped as she entered the kitchen.

“Latin, Slayer,” Spike shot over his shoulder as he worked side-by-side with her sister. They were going all-in, full English, so yay.

“I actually _knew that_ ,” she shot back as Dawn handed her a cup of coffee then offered, “Need any help?”

“Nah, just chill, we got this,” the younger Summers advised.

“Ok, but I call clean-up duty, least I can do,” she said with a shrug as she ambled into the parlor.

Taking a seat on the couch she sipped her coffee and looked around again, noticing some things she hadn’t before, like a statuette on a shelf on one of the built-in bookcases. Classical. A female form, of course, because one thing you could say about Spike is that he legit loved women. Craved their company, and not just for sex, although with his skills that would certainly be reason enough. Her eyes fell to the TV and the stack of burned CDs. She leaned forward and squinted at the writing on one of the cases then called into the kitchen, “You heard about _Passions,_ right?”

“Yeah.” Delivered crankily.

“He doesn’t want to talk about it,” Dawn added.

Buffy sat back, smirking, then contentedly sipped her coffee. Soon he emerged bearing a plate in each hand, her sister hot on his heals with cutlery and napkins in one hand and a French press in the other. They both looked utterly content at the surreally domestic turn of events. Gesturing at the table he advised, “You and the Bit take a seat and I’ll take the couch. Not like I need a table for my breakfast.”

She took a seat across from Dawn, who topped off her coffee then the two of them dug into plates piled high with artery-clogging and very appealing food. Spike flopped down on the sofa, his breakfast nowhere in sight. Perhaps he’d already eaten, maybe he didn’t want to eat his meal while they ate theirs, even though both had seen him consume blood before.

“The room upstairs is nice,” Buffy offered conversationally then inquired, “How did you get all the furniture and stuff up there?

“Through the ceiling. Weren’t a staircase there, just one of those trapdoors. Expanded the hole and moved everything we needed to do the work up through it. Completed the refurbishment then moved up the carpet and furniture before we installed the staircase. Crew was reliable and fast, owing to their not being exactly human. Want a contractor to get the job done right, on time and on budget, best to hire a demon firm. Sign their contracts in blood - _major_ incentive to keep their promises.”

“Mm, these sausages are _so_ good,” Dawn announced with a rapturous look.

“You usually keep this much human food around?” Buffy asked.

“Always had something for… Viv…” Dawn shot Buffy a look at his hesitation. Buffy replied with a soft, discreet kick to her sister’s shin. If Spike noticed, he didn’t let on as he continued, “But had this lot delivered this morning from up the road. Brothers run a tidy little market, fast delivery. Nice blokes, originally from Pakistan. Or maybe it’s Bangladesh.”

“Any new developments on the current weirdness?” Dawn inquired.

“No,” Buffy and Spike replied in unison.

“Nary a lethal fledge nor assassination attempt in over two weeks,” he added with a frown.

“At this point it’s just becoming _rude_ ,” Buffy remarked, furrowing her brow.

“Hey, maybe whatever was going on is just _over,_ ” Dawn offered brightly.

“Not bloody likely. It’s _never that_ easy. So, sod all for me to do but wait until it or they decide it’s time to murder me.”

“Actually,” Buffy began as she turned slightly in his direction.

“Vi and I had a talk about that earlier in the week. We were thinking, it might be helpful if the greener slayers had an opportunity to train on the regular with a more _authentic_ opponent.”

Quirking an eyebrow, he replied, “Because _she_ enjoyed that so much when she was a sprog.”

“No, she did not, but she insists that it _did_ make her a better fighter. While we wait for whatever to come at us, would you be willing? We have a rigorous training regimen for the less-experienced slayers, two hours of intense work in the morning and two more in the afternoon with classroom study and targeted conditioning work based on individual needs rounding out the day. The more-seasoned slayers typically do _either_ morning _or_ afternoon depending on their schedule that day, whether they patrolled the night before or are on to patrol that night. Maybe you could join us for, say two or three days, next week, and keep it up until… well, the Big Bad decides to come at us with whatever he/she/it is planning? We could send the Council car with the vamp-friendly windows, just before sunrise. The parking garage is under the building so it would be a singe-free trip. Or you can make your own arrangements, Mike or… whatever you prefer. What do you think?”

“A bona fide day job, Mum would be so proud.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Sure, not like I got anything better to do. When do I start, boss?”

Rolling her eyes, Buffy replied, “Monday?”

He nodded amiably and she turned back to her breakfast, which was finished over small talk, mostly about Dawn starting at King’s. When they were done, Buffy insisted on holding up her end of the bargain, clearing the table, filling and starting the dishwasher, and tidying up the kitchen while Spike and Dawn chatted about this and that, her sister talking a blue streak in a way that reminded Buffy of the old days.

“Well,” she announced when she had finished in the kitchen. “It’s after noon and I really should be getting back to HQ. Besides, I think we’ve taken advantage of Spike’s hospitality long enough. Wouldn’t want to overstay our welcome.”

“Yeah, and I need to get back to my Latin… stupid pluperfect passive indicative. I can’t believe we’re already into the second weekend of July. The term will be starting before I know it.”

“How’s your Greek coming along, Nibblet?”

“Don’t ask,” Dawn replied, rolling her eyes, then added, “We’ll tackle that after the next movie night.”

“Yasou!” Spike offered, raising his hand to mimic giving a toast. Her kid sister beamed.

For her part, Buffy felt grateful and rested and full of English breakfast and something else too. The un-gelled curls had not been lost on her. Nor the barely restrained – despite his best attempts – joy in his eyes at opening his home to and making breakfast for the Summers women whose scent, she knew, he would be able to smell in his house for days. Nor the casual grace with which his lithe, toned body moved around his home.

She was deeply, profoundly grateful that he actually had a home now, something more substantial than a crypt. A crypt he had nevertheless managed to make cozy until it had largely been destroyed by her and her ex-boyfriend, a parting shot to end their affair that had been cruel regardless of whatever he had been up to. She had barely cared; it hadn’t been about the demon eggs, not really.

It had been about punishing him for loving her while not being the perfect All-American Hero, even though she later – much later because she was the undisputed Queen of Da Nile – realized that she would never and could never be happy with the perfect All-American Hero. Because having tried and failed once hadn’t been enough to drive that point home. Because the perfect All-American Hero had come back with his perfect All-American Wife and his perfect All-American Marriage – which damn if she could recall _now_ what had made her so certain _then_ of the perfection of any of the above – and she had internalized that failure as hers and hers alone then hurled those feelings of failure where she had directed all her darkest emotions that year. Like a grenade.

Dawn was right, as she so often was these days, it would be a shame to see Spike leave this wonderfully cozy and charming London home he had made. Although he might have someplace equally nice or even nicer back in L.A. She knew very little of his life there. So much of who he was now remained a mystery to her. Such were her thoughts as she watched her sister give their host a tight hug and a kiss on the cheek then step out into the hallway and out of sight as she descended the staircase.

Spike turned to her and began, “Well, Slayer, it’s been…”

Buffy wasn’t sure what compelled her. Gratitude? Regret? Lust? Likely a combination of all the above propelled her into his personal space, her lips against his. Not rough and demanding like the bad old days, but soft and tentative, more like the time she’d gone to him to find out if he’d betrayed Dawn to Glory. She hadn’t even realized she’d closed her eyes until she opened them to meet his devastating blue eyes wide with surprise and dark with desire.

She was about to draw back when she felt his hands on her upper arms, her stomach sinking when she realized that he was probably going to push her away from him. Only he didn’t. He just held her there, loosely, his eyes slipping closed as he drew her fully into a sweet, slow, sipping kiss. He was kissing her back! And… oh…

_Lips of Spike!_

As the years ticked by, she had started to wonder if she were romanticizing the way it had felt to kiss him. That would be a no. He truly had the best lips. Full and soft and nimble. Then there was the way he surrendered to a kiss, the way this lethal creature – the best fighter she had ever known and one of only a handful who’d ever truly gotten close to beating her and might very well have eventually if he hadn’t really stopped trying – would literally pour himself into the person he was kissing, allow himself to be thoroughly consumed.

And she could spend hours, days, years doing this. Making up for all the hours, days, and years she hadn’t been doing this. Dating, kissing, and occasionally fucking, other guys. Trying to talk herself into believing it held a candle to this. To him. But she didn’t have years, days or even hours. Dawn was downstairs waiting for her, and this was… well, a really shitty thing to be doing while Viv was still wearing a cast, for one thing. She drew back but not away from him.

“Nice,” she whispered.

“What?” he murmured, breathing unnecessary breaths in time to her ragged breaths.

“You said, ‘It’s been...’ and I said ‘nice.’”

“Did I?” he replied with a shy smile.

“Thank you, Spike... for… everything. I should…”

“Yeah,” he responded, blinking away, and rubbing the back of his neck as he stepped aside to let her pass.

As she did, she reached out to place a hand flat on his chest. Funny, she half expected to feel his heart beating there. Sometimes he seemed so _thoroughly human_ that it was a surprise when it wasn’t. They shared one more lingering look and his eyes – not another pair like them in the world, she’d checked – were like a _storm-tossed sea_ , a term she had picked up somewhere, maybe on one of those period dramas the British loved so much. She recalled visiting the Tate Gallery soon after her arrival in London years earlier, and the seascapes by JWW Turner. Even though her mother had worked in art, very little had seeped in, but on that visit Buffy had made it a point to remember the name of the artist because the deep gray blues of his seascapes evoked eyes that she’d believed at the time she would never have the chance to look into again.

Then she willed her feet to move. Afraid that if she didn’t in that instant, she wouldn’t. As in ever. As she descended the staircase, her feet felt almost disconnected from the rest of her body. Like she was floating. It was such a cliché but nothing around her felt tangible, not even the solid wood door that she pulled closed behind her. Only when her eyes fixed on Dawn, so lovely in her cool shades as she stood on the sidewalk outside the gate basking in the precious English sunshine, did she feel her feet fully under her again.

“Should we take the bus to Hammersmith?” her sister asked when she joined her on the sidewalk.

“What? Yeah, sure.”

They crossed the road and Buffy concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, walking in silence that was broken only when she heard Dawn mutter,

“That was the bus stop… it’s a nice day to walk.”

They had passed Charing Cross Hospital when Buffy spotted a bench in front of a pub, charged over to it and sank down upon it, dropping her head in her hands. When she eventually looked up, Dawn was standing in front of her, arms crossed at her chest, waiting patiently for her to speak.

“I kissed Spike.”

“Well, duh.”

Buffy emitted a wry chuckle and dropped her head into her hands again, shaking her head. She felt Dawn take the seat beside her then felt her sister’s hand in her hair, smoothing a long lock. She sighed. They had always stroked one another’s hair to sooth each other.

“The other day, Spike told me that only you had the right to tell me anything about the two of you, and I think he’s right. And not in a cautionary tale, ‘let’s explain to Dawn how dangerous boys can be’ sort of way because I’m all grown up now, Buffy. I’ve had relationships. Meh ones, good ones even if nothing’s stuck yet. I’ve had sex.”

“Ugh.”

“Ugh? Really? At least when I gave it up, the world didn’t almost end as a result.”

Buffy sat up and shot her a look. Dawn raised an eyebrow at her, smirking. They both laughed.

“I don’t need the gory details because I’d like to be able to make eye contact with you both afterwards. Watching that sex scene with the two of you last night was awkward enough.”

“Want to hear something I’ve never told anyone? Not Willow? Not Xander? Not even Spike?”

“Sure.”

“I was _always_ attracted to him. Even when I hated him, although I’m not sure when I even hated him. I must have. I… I know I did. He tried to kill me. Then tried again. And tried to hurt my friends. And did a bunch of other things to piss me off. I mean, it was appalling to me to be attracted to someone who reveled in being bad, you know? And I was so in love with Angel and, well 16, so I thought being in love meant that I should never notice anyone else ever again because I’d spent too many years watching Disney movies. So, I would shove it to the back of my mind, but it was always there. I guess that’s why I totally freaked, made such a big deal out of it when he declared his love for me.”

“Yeah, you really did.”

“I could have just ignored him. Or told him to get the hell out of town if he couldn’t deal with it or I’d stake him. Ok, so I _did_ say that, and more than once, but I never followed through, did I? Because, by then, I’m not even sure what he could have done to make me stake him – and it wasn’t for lack of trying on his part because he didn’t need to be able to bite people to be a massive pain in the ass – and I tried to tell myself it was because of the chip but I… I really don’t think it was. I may not have wanted him around, not consciously anyway, but I didn’t want him _not around_ either. And I felt _so ashamed_ for feeling that way.”

Dawn took her hand and said, “Thank you for sharing that with me. I have an idea. Why don’t we stop off at HQ, pick up some things for you and you can crash at my place tonight? Things are quiet right now, I’m sure they can do without you for another night. I’ll cook dinner and we can talk some more.”

“I don’t want you to… you and Spike have your friendship back and I… wouldn’t want to…”

“You’re my sister, Buffy, _the_ most important person in the world to me. Literally would not exist if it weren’t for you. On so many levels. Maybe I should say it more often. I don’t want you to think that you have to shield me from who you really are because I _already know_ that who you really are is pretty freakin’ awesome. Besides, I doubt you can say anything that would make me think any worse than the whispers and offhanded remarks did that last year in Sunnydale. I threatened to set him on fire, remember? By some miracle here we are, on the other side of the Hellmouth. Half a world away. Survivors. But there is something out there and if you and Spike don’t figure out how to deal with each other before it finally decides to come calling, I’m afraid you’ll stake yourself in a vital organ or he’ll stumble out in the sun or something. You two are ridiculous.”

“Alright,” Buffy conceded with a sigh. “But two homecooked meals in one day, I hope my system can handle it.”

* * * *

Spike had turned up as promised on Monday, and again on Thursday. He worked with Vi in the training room while Buffy led the classroom sessions. He spent much of the rest of both days in the library, either reading or talking to Giles, having agreed to fill in some gaps in the official Council record of the exploits of William the Bloody. Occasionally, Buffy would hear raucous laughter coming from the library, wonder what Spike had told Giles to elicit that response then decide that she would probably prefer not to know. She and Spike had seen but not spoken to one another on Monday and managed to avoid one another most of the day again on Thursday until, in the evening just before she knew Spike would be leaving for the day, Buffy popped in to debrief on the ice-cold cases of the fledges and Viv’s attack.

The only recent development was locating the girl who had managed to avoid her fate at the rave where the college kid was killed when someone fitting the description Finn had given wound up hospitalized for a Vicodin overdose. Giles had gone to see her before she was released to ask her what she remembered. The only thing she could recall was that the rave hosts had, as she put it, given her the creeps, and that they had Welsh accents, like her gran’s.

“Hardly narrows it down,” Spike remarked with a frown. “Swing a left at Charing Cross, keep going long enough and you’re in Wales. Lots of people from Wales make their way to London. My own mum for a start.”

“I didn’t know that,” Buffy said.

“Why would you?” he replied with a shrug then addressed Giles, “What about the girl? Think she’ll be alright?”

“She said she’s entering treatment and one can only hope… but one doesn’t ever really know with these things. Addiction recovery is an uphill battle. In any case, the Council is now making discreet inquiries in Wales to see if there have been recent reports, however scattered, of anything unusual or... I’m willing to take even remotely notable at this point.”

“Meantime, I’m playing sodding Redcoat at Butlins,” Spike remarked with a frown.

Giles chuckled and replied, “C’mon now, it can’t be _that_ bad.”

Furrowing her brow Buffy asked, “What… at where?” Maybe it was because they were both back in the mother country but, lately, when Spike and Giles spoke to one another, it frequently might as well be in Swahili.

“Your watcher can explain it to you. Sun’s getting low in the sky. Reckon it’s time for me to clear off. Until Monday then, unless we catch a break and someone or something tries to end one of us.”

“Very well, shall I call down to the garage and order the car?”

“Nah, rode the bike over before sunrise and kipped in the training room until it was time to… bugger.”

“Yes, that sound you hear is rain,” Buffy pointed out.

“You can leave the motorbike here and collect it later,” Giles offered as he picked up the phone and held it, waiting for a reply.

“Ta, Rupert. Leather gets soaked and I smell like a wet dog for days.”

* * * *

“Hey,” Buffy offered as she caught up with Spike in the hallway, where he was again suspiciously eyeing the ugly antlered coat rack.

“Half a mind to set that thing on fire.”

“Don’t expect me to stop you,” she joked.

“Driver on call popped out for petrol. Back in a jiff and I’ll be on my way.”

“Uh, yeah, I was in the room when Giles called down.”

“Oh, right.”

Silence. Dead silence. Of the most painfully awkward variety.

“So, guess I’ll see you Monday, then?”

“You will. Bye, Spike.”

With a nod he exited the room through the door to the stairway leading to the garage. Buffy closed her eyes and shook her head then looked over at the coat rack. “Oh, shut up,” she muttered then dragged herself upstairs to her room to shower. Or maybe hang herself.

* * * *

One downside of not _having to_ patrol most nights was filling the time. Of course, billions of people walking the planet who had _never_ had to patrol most nights faced no such challenge. Even the other slayers had seemingly little trouble balancing their lives as slayers with their lives as people. Of course, the world they inhabited was so different than the world she was from. For them slaying was less an all-encompassing burden and more a job with an occasionally fluctuating work schedule.

After showering, she’d gone downstairs to make herself a sandwich, opting to bring it and a bottle of Orangina up to her room to avoid having to socialize. After eating she picked up a book, read the same page three times, then put down the book and switched on the TV, which also failed to hold her attention. There was something _so 1996_ about lying on her bed and listening to music, even if the music itself had changed, evolved, so she gave that a hard pass. She checked the time. Almost 10. She could try to go to sleep but years of patrol had made her a night owl and she found it nearly impossible to drift off before midnight unless she hadn’t slept for days, was injured or, most rarely, sick.

This was more than run-of-the-mill restlessness, she knew. Ever since spending the previous Saturday afternoon, and most of the evening, talking to her sister about Spike, she had felt lighter, almost giddy. Turns out that the truth was pretty darn liberating. While different people had known bits and pieces over the years, she had never shared the whole truth about her and Spike with anyone for fear of being judged. She was glad to have finally opened up to Dawn about something so important to her, to them both. They had laughed, they had cried. Some of it had been pretty intense because, well, the truth _was_ intense. Complicated. Messy as fuck.

At the end of it all, Dawn had said, _“No worries about Spike and me. I think I might love him even more_ _now. As for you, sister of mine, do you have any idea how badass you are? Maybe you don’t realize because you’re you, but most people wouldn’t have survived half of what you have and even if they did, not without it changing them. And not necessarily for the good. You’re still you. Strong, loving, loyal, a great friend, the best sister. But, also, witty and funny and fun to be around. You haven’t let it… I don’t know, diminish you, but sometimes I think you think it has. It hasn’t Buffy. Really.”_

Buffy smiled. That was probably the nicest thing Dawn had ever said to her, reminding her of a pep talk she had received years earlier under wildly different circumstances. She honestly did not know why she was the one who had survived to flip the script, or what the hell she was doing most of the time, but she did know that the reason she had made it to 27 was because she’d had the good sense to let others into her life, into her heart, even if sometimes that didn’t go so well. On balance it had all been worth it. And still was.

She hopped up from bed and looked out the window. The rain had stopped, and the moon was out. She pondered a moment, bit her lip, then paced briskly out of her room and up the hall to Vi’s where she was happy to see light bleeding into the hallway from under the door. She knocked twice.

“Hey,” she offered when the door opened.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Would you mind if I took tomorrow off?”

“Not a problem. Lex is off tonight, so I’ll have her run the training room and I’ll do the lecture. Tweaked my shoulder today… well, _I’m not the one_ who tweaked it,” she tacked on with a knowing smile.

“But I could use a day out of the training room. Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, it’s fine. Just have some shit to deal with. And I sure hope you gave _him_ what for.”

“Oh, I did. Sent him halfway across the training room. I think it bugs him that I’m not terrified of him like I used to be.”

“He’ll adapt. Thanks, Vi, I owe you one. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Buffy.”

With that sorted, she strode determinedly back to her room and pulled out a backpack then grabbed her phone. Hitting speed dial, she held the phone in the crook of her neck as she gathered items to place inside of the pack.

“Hey, Ralphie, good evening to you too. Did Spike leave the keys to his bike? Good. I’ll be down in 10…”

She caught her reflection in the mirror and added, “Make that 20 to pick it up.”

**TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spike's 'Redcoat at Butlins' remark refers to the distinctive uniforms worn by the front-line staff at a chain of well-known holiday camps in Britain. Holiday camps used to be a bigger deal, sort of like the camps in the Catskills Mountains of New York State a la "Dirty Dancing" but then air travel democratized, elaborate theme parks really took off, and more people opted for independent holidays. But since Spike has lived a long time and, I firmly believe, knows everything (it's one of the many things about him I find irresistible), I could totally see him dropping that line. I also think that the longer both he and Giles are home the less intelligible their conversations will be to the Yanks. I really dig them together, one of my favorite publicity shots ever being the 'teatime' shot. <3


	11. And in my thoughts I have bled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter titled from "The Rip."

“The bike’s parked around the corner on Atalanta,” Buffy announced as she dropped her backpack on the floor of the parlor. Spike set aside the book he’d been reading and sat up straight on the couch, eyeing her cautiously. She tossed him the keys.

“Okay… thank… you?” he offered haltingly, setting them down on the coffee table.

“You’re welcome.”

A pause then, “Everything alright? The slayers? Nibblet?”

Another pause and, “No… I mean yes, everything is fine. Well, probably not but we don’t know how not-fine yet.”

“Not to appear ungrateful but what are you doing here, Slayer?”

“Taking advice someone once gave me about dealing with my shit before my shit deals with me.”

“Still not following. Care to elaborate?”

“Yes!” she declared then moved around the coffee table to take a seat next to him on the sofa, his eyes tracking her suspiciously. “I’ll elaborate and you’ll elaborate and once everyone’s elaborated it will stop being so _ridiculous_ and we can figure out the bad guys and I won’t stake myself in a vital organ and you won’t stumble out into the sun,” she ran on, well aware that her mouth had gotten ahead of her brain.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered under his breath as he blinked away from her.

Buffy expelled a heavy sigh then stated, “We’re into our second month of this… this God, there isn’t even a _word_ for what we do, and I can’t do it anymore. It’s _exhausting_. What’s more it’s _distracting,_ and in our business, we can’t afford to be distracted. So, we deal with the giant pink elephant with the pretty purple polka dots standing in the middle of the room. We deal with _each other._ I… I meant to… after Viv… but then we did what we’ve always done, fell into step _without_ dealing.”

“What do you want from me, Buffy?”

“I want you to _talk to me,_ Spike. Was a time I could never get you to shut up. Every thought, every feeling and, bam, it was out there. You _never_ held back. Not as enemies, not as friends, not as… just _never._ Now, you’re… it’s like you’re channeling Angel with this whole emotionally-unavailable-vampire-with-a-soul routine.”

“Take that back!” he insisted indignantly.

“Give me a reason to,” she responded, folding her arms at her chest.

“What, exactly, are you wanting to hear, Slayer?”

“Are you _kidding?!?_ And my name is _Buffy_ , Spike. You remember her, right? The woman who watched you burn closing the Hellmouth? The woman who… fine, I’ll start. I guess it’s really kind of my turn anyway. _”_ Dropping her arms, she moved closer to him and held out her left hand, palm upturned and continued, “See that? The slight discoloration? Here…”

She thrust her palm right in front of his face and insisted, “Take a good look. Know what that is? It’s a scar, faint but it’s there. And that’s weird because I don’t really scar, you know that, but that scar is there five fucking years later and you know why _I_ think that is? Because I _willed_ it to be. Who you were and what you had done mattered to me, and I wanted to carry that, a bit of you, with me… forever.

Those first few months… after… were such a blur. Setting up here, gathering slayers, building something new, getting Dawn situated for her last year of high school – Giles called in a marker to get her into a good boarding school in Bath and she worked so hard, totally nailed it, got into Exeter. But she also got to be just another girl in the last year of high school planning her future, which was _everything._ It was exciting and there was so much, I don’t know, _purpose_ but late at night, alone in the dark, all I did was think about you. What you had done. And I’d feel the scar…”

Buffy unconsciously closed her hand and pulled it to her chest then went on, “And I’d talk to you and it was almost like praying. Praying to a dead vampire who’d gone off and gotten a soul for me then made this amazing sacrifice to save the world, which I know sounds _so_ stupid, but I was grateful to you and proud of you and missed you and… _cared_ , you idiot, even if you died not believing it, and that was all I had, all that was left.

As far as I knew anyway until, a year later – a whole year of grieving you and missing you – I overhear a conversation between Andrew and Giles and _couldn’t believe it_ because you had always come back even when I distinctly told you _not to_ _come back_ … as in ever. I mean, and this may give you some karmic joy and I probably have it coming, but I _so literally could not believe it_ that I thought it _wasn’t Andrew_ saying it _._ I thought the First had come back until Giles sat me down and explained.

Everyone told me that you must have had your reasons for staying away, for not contacting me, but I figured there was only one, that you were finally over me, done with the whole thing. Of course, I could have _gone to you_ and asked but that wasn’t the way we did things, right? You’re supposed to trail after me and force me to confront you, not the other way around.

Only now I am, Spike. I _am_ asking, because we’re both here, in London, in your home – the home you said I had no place in but with a guest room that looks like _my mother’s ghost_ decorated it and I feel the way you look at me and the look in your eyes when you touch my hair and I know how it felt to kiss you and I’m not sorry for any of it and I’m pretty sure that _you’re_ _not sorry_ _either._ ”

She took a breath, biting her lip, fighting back tears. She _so_ did not want to play the crying card, knowing what a sucker he was for her tears. That he would make it all about her; focus on making sure that she was okay. That wasn’t what she wanted, what they needed. She wanted, they needed, what she used to avoid like avoiding it was her life’s true calling – to have a _real conversation._

“Your hand… gimme,” Spike demanded softly, reaching for the hand still clenched tightly against her chest.

Buffy held her hand out to him and he took it in both of his, gently uncurling her fingers. With aching tenderness, he ran his thumb over the scar on her palm and shuddered. She stifled a gasp, as well as the impulse to fling herself at him, to cling to him like a vine. When he still didn’t speak, she continued, “With our… history, I understand why you don’t trust my motives.”

“Forget about that, I was being a pillock.”

“No, you _were_ _right_ about where my head is right now. In fact, you weren’t even the first person to tell me off that week about it. You could always see right through me, ever since, well, ever. It’s your superpower, Spike. It’s true, I _don’t know_ exactly where I fit into this new reality that I had a major hand in creating, but that’s _my_ problem and I… I will figure it out because I have something that for years, I didn’t think I ever would. I’ve got time, time to figure out who I want to be when I grow up.”

“You will,” he assured, eyes affixed to her hand cradled in both of his on his lap.

“But not knowing where I see myself in ten years or, you know, next Tuesday, does not mean that _what I feel right now_ isn’t real. It’s not like it was then, when I was desperate to feel _something…_ to feel _anything_. I’m not running away or hiding from anything now. I’m here because _I want to be here._ I’m here because I missed you and want to be around you. I may have no idea what the future holds, who does really, but right now, _it feels right_ to be sitting on your couch with you and there really isn’t anywhere else I want to be right now. Go figure.”

_Wow, I really just said all that out loud, didn’t I? Look at me communicating my feelings like a person. Go me!_

He looked up at her and his expression was so soft yet so raw that she wanted to kiss his gorgeous face. Everywhere. The scarred eyebrow. That death-defying hollow of his cheeks. The tip of his nose. His decadently full mouth. Knowing that if her lips touched his she would not be able to stop this time, she mustered every bit of self-control and with a wry smile stated, “So there, I’ve spilled my guts. Your turn.”

“Couldn’t you just stake me instead?”

Her only response was to hold his gaze in a manner that channeled in no uncertain terms, _I have all night._ He sighed then shook his head, settled back on the sofa, and cast his eyes heavenwards.

“Bloody impossible bint is what you are, you know that? That’s _your_ superpower.”

“Pretty much,” she replied with a shrug.

“Didn’t stay away to hurt you, pet. Didn’t plan on staying away at all. Back up, didn’t figure on _coming back_ to plan anything. When the sodding amulet started going off like a Roman candle it was suddenly clear. Don’t think my head’s _ever_ been so clear, before or since. Knew I had to see it through. Wasn’t that I _didn’t_ believe you, love, was that it was beside the point. You needed out of there so I could finish it. Didn’t need you getting any funny ideas, did I?

Last thing I really saw was you running off, off into the world where you could… live. And then there was so much light, and it was brilliant and, yeah, hurt like a bugger but nothing like it did seeing you broken on the ground two years before, you understand me? Not even close. And then I was finished, last bloody thought was of you, living, in the sunshine. And I was fine.”

“I get that,” she said knowingly, closing her fingers around his.

“Didn’t go where you had been. _That_ would’ve been a kick in the pants, wouldn’t it? I was nowhere, really. But that was okay. Until I was in searing pain again then looking at Peaches, a bunch of bloody strangers, and Harmony. Thought I might’ve finally dropped into Hell, until I kept taking short trips to the real thing compliments of Pavane… long story. Won’t bore you with the details of my Casper period. Not much fun, I can tell you. Then in a literal flash it was over.

I was me again only… fuck if I knew what that even meant. Shit, Buffy, hardly had a chance to get my feet under me, you know? Not like a chunk of the previous decade had been smooth sailing for the evil undead. The mob in Prague what drove me to Sunnydale then Angelus coming back then Dru leaving me for Rupert’s coat rack then the sodding chip then Glory then… the _real trouble_ began then I won my soul then the First was scrambling my brain then I finally _got one right_ for a change.

And, bloody hell, Buffy, at the _center of it all_ for so long was _you_. Turned my world upside down. Turned me inside out. Remade me, you did, as surely as Dru had, but I didn’t know _what I was_ because all I could ever see was _you.”_

“Spike… I…”

“Not _blaming you_ for anything, pet. All you were doing was being you. Not your fault that from the moment I laid eyes on you… dancing with the witch and the whelp you… you had me. Your blood, it sings to my demon. Always has. Like nothing or no one ever has. Not even my sire. Demon didn’t want you dead, pet. Demon wanted you… full stop. Even before the part of me what remembered being a man fell in love with you.

Before the soul, I saddled you with the burden of being my conscience. Wasn’t fair to you, hadn’t asked for it. And, anyway, ended in disaster, both know it. Then, after still couldn’t sort out how to be _anything_ without my brilliant North Star. Glad of it in the end, to be able to be of use, do something a good man would do even if I wasn’t good or a man.

Only, it wasn’t the end. Barely more than a fortnight and I was back and, here’s the kicker, because some evil berk was trying to wind up my grandsire. Way to make a bloke feel right special. Was that _really_ the point to it all? To be an afterthought? A footnote in some other sod’s narrative? Guess I wanted… needed to prove that I could be something worthy on my own two feet.”

  
“By sticking around with _the other sod?_ Color me confused, Spike.”

“Wasn’t the original plan, that. At first, all I wanted to do was pull up stakes and go but then one thing came up, then another, where someone was depending on me. And then something _really bad_ happened and all I wanted to do was help Angel try to fix it, but we couldn’t. Then before I knew it there was another suicide mission and I thought, fuck, maybe the blaze of glory is gonna stick this time. But that would be a no. Blue pulls a rabbit out of her Old One hat – still don’t quite understand it and reckon I never will – and we somehow come out the other side. Winners.

Then we got drunk. And stayed drunk. For days. Charlie was the first to sober up, owing to the fact that being a living human being, continuing to drink like that would eventually _kill him._ Then we asked ourselves what to do next and the answer was obvious, what we’d been doing, honor the fallen by picking up and going on. I mean, what was the alternative, open a bloody flower shop?

Then W&H Europe came calling, relieved to be out from under the old order turns out, and we had our first case in short order, and it was off to the races. Hasn’t been half-bad on a good day – fast cars, bit of flash, rough and tumble – get to do all my favorite things _and_ be the good guy. Only I’m not, not really.”

“Not? How can you say…”

“Because even though I know it was all wrong, once I came back and had my pins under me, was feeling more like old Spike, some ways quicker than others, I’d think about it. All the bloody time. Still do.

The look in your eyes when you’d ride me. The exact way you’d grind your hips, always anti clockwise. Always leading with your right, Slayer. The way you’d nip my prick, hint of murder in those lethal green eyes of yours, the way it made me lose all my bloody senses and not give a sod if the next thing you did was stake me. And, a personal favorite, your smell, your taste, the sounds you’d make when you would come on my tongue, bloody gorgeous all of it.

Found paradise in your quim. Only it wasn’t paradise for you. It was… _I was_ an act of self-harm. Figured as long as I couldn’t make myself regret _all of it_ , not just the end part, was better to keep to my end of the world and you to yours.”

Buffy swallowed hard, all the moisture having drained from her mouth, apparently, and she had a pretty good idea where to. Hearing him use words he hadn’t used in her presence in years made heat pool in her belly. His voice alone had been enough to get her halfway there in the old days. Some things never changed.

“Gonna punch me in the nose for saying so?” he asked, and she could tell by the look in his eyes that he was only half-joking.

Finding her voice, she responded, “You stayed away because you have fond memories of having sex with me? Because you think that I _don’t_ have any _good_ memories of… those things?”

“Something gave me that idea, yeah. Oh right, might have been the words ‘it’s killing me.’”

“It was _where my head was_ then that was killing me not the way you touched me. And I thought you understood later. When you came back. Even after… I craved your touch.”

“You needed a shoulder. Was happy to be one. Could do it then. Couldn’t have done… the other if you walked in starkers with a hand engraved invitation taped to your belly button. Was a right mess. Nothing, and I mean _nothing,_ was working properly. Like your stuffed pig, I was, a plush toy to cuddle in the dark. Was Captain Forehead you snogged in the end.”

_That again? Jesus. That’s it…_

With slayer speed and agility, Buffy was straddling Spike’s lap, her hands on either side of his head forcing his startled eyes to look straight into hers as she asserted, “I had just killed Caleb and I was stoked and, yes, I _was_ happy to see Angel because he means a lot to me and always will, which is something you’re just going to have to figure out how to deal with if you haven’t already and, besides, you must see _something_ in him yourself since _you_ chose to stay _with him_ all these years…”

“I haven’t been staying with him _like that!_ Okay, was that one time in Tijuana had to pretend to be a couple but was just a cover!” Spike interjected.

“What? No, you’re missing the point. Which _is_ that the reason I kissed him is because I _could_ kiss him then _stop_. Just like that…” She snapped her fingers then her right hand came to rest gently on the slope of his shoulder as she continued, “Because I’d had _years_ of practice _stopping_. But with you… not so good with the stopping and the world was about to end and we didn’t have the time or space to deal with the fallout of kissing and _not stopping._ But, in the back of my mind, I was hoping… maybe we could try… when it was over and there _was_ the time and space. Only when it was over you were gone.”

“Yeah, I was,” he concurred with a heavy sigh, his head dropping back to rest on the back of the couch.

“But you’re back and you’re here. And so am I. On your lap to be precise.”

“Had noticed that, pet.”

“Really? Because…” She looked down at his slightly outstretched arms terminating in hands balled tightly where they rested on either side of her folded legs. “You seem to be going out of your way _not_ to touch me.”

“Haven’t been asked.” 

“I repeat, I’m on your lap, Spike. I didn’t think I had to…”

“Yes, Buffy, you _bloody well do…”_

_Oh. Shit. I’m an idiot._

After the long, difficult conversation with Dawn she had hoped she wouldn’t have to spell it out. Again. She had hoped he understood. He _had_ been there, after all. Yeah, there to be called _a monster; a vile, disgusting thing_ and to be reminded, repeatedly, that she _could never love him_. Until, as desperate and broken as she was, he finally lived up to her assessment of him.

“You’re not the only one with regrets from that year and you’re not the only one with plenty _to regret_ from that year. I have plenty, about how I treated you – which soul or no soul _you did not deserve_ after what you had done for Dawn and me – but not just about you. I was horrible. I was at my worst. And felt abandoned when I was down. Dawn, well, that wasn’t her fault. She was too young, someone needed to be _taking care of her_ and no one was. Giles bailed. My friends were… well, we all seemed to be face-planting at once that year. Felt like the only steady one was Tara and look what that got her…”

Buffy frowned then continued, “But you, you stuck with me until we were both so fucked up that you didn’t understand. Because you didn’t have the tools to understand. And I wasn’t in any state to guide you. I’m only going to say this once then… then I’d prefer not to discuss it again, but you’re _not a rapist_ , Spike. I mean, I have no idea what you did all those years before I knew you but the _Spike I know_ isn’t.

Because if I thought you were then, big fat failure that I was as a surrogate parent that year, I’d like to think that I wouldn’t have planned to leave the most important person in the world to me in your care while I tried to stop Willow. I don’t care what was happening, and I don’t care that the chip would have stopped you from physically assaulting her. She loves you, Spike. You wouldn’t have had to lay a hand on her to hurt her and, if you were a rapist you would have because for rapists it’s really all about control, not sex. But you wouldn’t have. I’d have staked my life on it. I was prepared to stake hers.

Here’s what I finally realized, and yes only after you were gone because Buffy of the shitty timing, but you saved my life that year. Awful as it was, as we were, I wouldn’t have survived it without you. And then what? The return of the First was already set in motion by my resurrection; I don’t think dying again would have undone it. How would all that have played out without me? Honestly, when I think about what might have been if, say, that summer after Glory, Dawn went to live with our poor excuse for a father and you left Sunnydale, it sends a shiver down my spine. Would any of this…”

She gestured broadly around her then went on, “Even exist? Okay, so _someone_ would have stepped up. Someone always does. Faith. Angel.”

Spike nodded.

“But we kind of needed _everyone_ to win, didn’t we? So, as far as I’m concerned, we just need to _forgive_ for that horrible year even if there’s no forgetting, to not let it hang in the air between us. I know that saying so isn’t a magic bullet so if there’s something you need _me_ to do to help _you_ forgive then tell me what it is.”

“Need to know you’re alright, is all.”

“Look at me, Spike.” He lifted his head off the back of the couch and looked into her eyes. She smiled and said, “I really am. Well, for a 27-year-old marginally employable college dropout who lives in a glorified dorm room,” she added with a shrug.

“Christ, I’m buggered,” he muttered then closed his arms around her and crushed her to him.

She melted into his embrace, every contour of her body molding to the contours of his. God, they just _fit_. Stroking the soft hairs at the back of his neck, she pressed her lips to his ear and whispered, “I thought I couldn’t miss _anyone_ more than I missed Angel after he left Sunnydale. Had to make a liar out of me, didn’t you?”

**TBC**


	12. To describe this sense absurd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Magic Doors."

“You’re trembling, love,” Spiked murmured as he held Buffy tightly to him.

“I am? I thought it was you,” she replied then smiled against his skin as her lips brushed the edge of his jawline under his ear. One of her favorite spots, the skin there so soft. Another thing she had long ago catalogued, and never forgotten, was all the wonderfully soft places on him.

“Bollocks, can’t even tell.”

“I took tomorrow off. I want to stay the weekend if... if that’s okay with you.” She felt him tense slightly and pulled back to search his eyes then conceded, “I know I kind of sprung this on you.”

“Kind of?” He raised an eyebrow, her favorite of the two although they were both very nice, at her.

“I... wasn’t assuming... we’d... I... the bedroom upstairs... I _can stay_ in the bedroom upstairs.”

_Way to go, Buffy._

She should have figured there was a hard limit to how many consecutive words she could coherently string together on the topic of them. At least she had gotten the really important things out before reaching it. Rolling her eyes, she buried her head in the crook of his neck then felt his chest rumble with amusement.

“Hey, cut me some slack, I pulled off adult... ish, for, like, 20 whole minutes.”

“Not why I’m laughing, pet.”

Sitting back again, she frowned at him. He responded by smiling that smile that conveyed _you are totally ridiculous but also the most miraculous creature that has ever existed_ , and she had never known anyone else who could so beautifully convey _two completely different_ thoughts with _one smile_ and how she had missed that.

He kissed the tip of her nose and remarked, “The idea there’s an alternate universe somewhere, anywhere, where it _wouldn’t_ be alright with me. Bloody hilarious is what it is. Was what I wanted from the moment I saw you marching across Westminster Bridge like Mrs. Pankhurst.”

_Who?_

“Yeah, I _totally_ got that vibe as the windows in Mike’s cab froze over on the drive to HQ that first night, and was this _before or after_ you started planning your, what did she call it? Oh yeah, your _dirty weekend_ with Viv? _”_

“Ah, pet, didn’t say I _wanted_ to want to throw my arms around you and just _inhale you for days_ because didn’t dare dream you’d let me. Viv and me, we’d have a brilliant shag when the mood hit us but were always more a friends-with-benefits arrangement. Cut right through my bullshit, she did. Knew I wasn’t really free pretty much from the first.

Then one night I’m out on the town minding my own business and the whole sodding world turns upside down. Bloody panicked, didn’t I? Thought maybe if I could throw myself into the thing with Viv, even knowing she’d be pulling up stakes soon, then maybe I could shag you out of my system.”

Buffy pushed aside the flutter of jealousy, mostly brought on by the word _brilliant –_ after all, _she_ had brought it up – and inquired wryly, “And how did that work out for you?”

“Not well. Didn’t help you kept turning up at my door like a stray kitten. Wasn’t half-bad giving it a go, though,” he tacked on with a wink.

Buffy blinked twice then replied, “I’ll bet. She’s your type. Tough, takes no shit, and she’s totally hot.”

He groaned. It was her turn to raise an eyebrow at him.

“Now see, not fair. How’s a bloke supposed to overcome his evil nature with a bloody goddess on his lap going on about the hotness of another... mind goes places, don’t it?”

“That’s _your_ problem, Spike,” she replied with a wicked grin.

His expression turned dark, in a decidedly yummy way, his eyes laser focused on her lips. Just as he appeared poised to strike...

_Oh, Mandy_   
_Well, you came_   
_And you gave without taking_   
_But I sent you away_

_Oh, Mandy..._

“Bugger.”

_Oh. My. God. Seriously?!?!_

“Can’t you ignore it?”

Moving her off his lap, Spike shook his head and replied, “You recall Peaches being big on the small talk back in the day?”

“No,” Buffy replied rolling her eyes.

“Still ain’t. Charlie either.”

Grabbing his phone off the coffee table he looked at it, brow furrowing, then barked into it, “This better be bloody important.” To her surprise, he did not get up and leave the room.

“Permanent? What the bloody hell do you mean _permanent?_ She’s dead and gone for years. How can it be _permanent_?

Yeah, know it’s a good question, why I asked it.

Well, fuck. Can’t bloody imagine. You and Charlie knew her lot longer, better than I did. Must be right uncanny. Wish there were something I... if I were... could least hit the training room, let you get a solid right hook in.

Yeah, I said _let you,_ Grandpa.

Too-da-loo.”

He hung up, sniffed, and turned to her. “Drink? I need a drink,” he offered then hopped up from the sofa.

The sexy mood was now dead.

And _Angel_ had killed it.

Making her Karma’s number one bitch.

Of all time, maybe.

“I’ll have that drink,” she called after Spike then flopped against the back of the sofa with a sigh.

* * * *

By the time Spike returned to the kitchen, having popped down to the ground floor to grab one of the bottles he kept there in reserve, Buffy concluded that Angel’s cock-block probably wasn’t _the worst_ thing to happen. While she knew without question what she wanted, and on a purely physical level knew it would be _so easy_ because their sexual chemistry was epic with each possessing a preternatural ability to bring the other off from the moment they first tried, becoming sexually involved with Spike again was fraught. Hell, deciding to embark on a sexual relationship with _anyone_ was fraught with so much of her personal life having been a disaster, in the most literal sense of the word.

So, when Spike returned with their drinks, Buffy asked him, point blank, what was going on in L.A. and he told her. He explained that the Old One, Illyria (Blue to him), who had occasionally slipped into the persona of the woman whose body she had invaded four years earlier killing her in the process, had been doing so more frequently of late and, most recently, had not come out of it and was showing no signs that she would.

While Buffy had heard the basic facts of the life and death of Winnifred Burkle, ‘Fred’ to her friends, Spike talked affectionately and emotionally at length about _who_ she had been, how she had been the first person to show him kindness when he came back, what that had meant to him, how she had worked tirelessly to try to make him corporeal again, and most heartbreakingly about her brief, doomed love affair with Wesley and those last, tortured months of the life of Faith’s former watcher.

As the story unfolded, he took her hand then eventually took her in his arms and, ultimately, they ended up curled together on the couch, her head resting on his chest which vibrated pleasingly as he spoke softly to her, his fingers toying with locks of her hair. It felt nice. More importantly, it felt _real._

“You would have loved her,” he concluded, adding. “Everyone did. She would have loved you too. Was what she did.”

“I’m sorry I never got to meet her, that that happened to her, that I never got the opportunity to thank her for looking out for you. I’m sorry for all the loss, for everything you had to go through that year. Fred, Wesley... Cordelia.”

“Wasn’t close to her myself. Only saw her the one time in L.A.... well, sort of... long story. Anyway, that was Angel’s...” Spike’s mouth snapped shut.

Gazing amusedly up at him Buffy remarked, “It’s a _small world_ we live in, Spike. Do you think I hadn’t heard that they were _close_? I mean, what was I expecting to happen? She was there with him, every day, I was not. So, okay, I’ll admit that was an End Times scenario for me when I was in high school but that was almost a decade ago – _a lot_ has happened since then. I’m not that lovesick kid anymore. Haven’t been for a long time, Spike. Anyway, I was _way_ more stunned to find out that Angel _had a baby._ A _human_ baby. And... how it happened.”

“Kid’s alright. He and Angel have been through it but they... they’re doing okay now.”

“Heard that too. Tell me another story about when you came back. About when you were _really_ back. How did that _even happen?_ Everything I’ve heard is fuzzy on that detail.”

“So am I, I’m afraid. Just someone pulling the strings, is all, and again in service of getting Peaches’ goat,” he replied with a frown.

“Well, I don’t care _why_ they did it, I’m just _really happy_ they did.” She held him tighter and he hummed contentedly, making her smile.

“So, tell me,” she prompted. “Tell me the first thing you did when you were flesh and bone again.”

“I don’t think so, Slayer.”

“Oh, so it’s _Slayer_ now, is it? That can’t be good.”

“It was not.”

“Now I _insist_ that you tell me. I really want to know.”

“No, you really do not.”

With a playfully warning jab to his ribs she insisted, “Yeah, I _really_ do.”

“Ok, but remember, you asked. Don’t get to punch me in the nose if you don’t like it. Agreed?”

With an exaggerated sigh she replied, “Agreed.”

“I shagged Harmony.”

_He’s right, I really didn’t want to know that._

Lifting her head, she stared for a beat then said, “You didn’t.”

“Did. Well started to then she went all ‘Fatal Attraction’ on me and tried to cook my bunny. All to do with you, of course, because you _would_ be the end of me from half a world away.”

“Oh no, I’m not taking the blame for your poor choice of sex partners. Well, except for the times that the poor choice was _me._ ”

“Yeah, well, Harm was but a footnote on that day. Beating the piss out of Captain Forehead was the main event.”

“What?!?!”

“That was _a long day_ at the office, I tell you,” he stated then launched into the saga of his first corporeal day after closing the Hellmouth, as Buffy settled back onto the pillow she’d made of his chest.

“Mountain Dew?” She interjected, wrinkling her nose when he reached that point in the narrative.

“Yup, nobody walked away a real boy that day obviously which, since I’m being honest here, only really interested me because Peaches seemed to _want it so much_. Was a useless git of a man and don’t much see the point in being one again. Timid, eleven stone soaking wet, what bloody use would I be to _anyone_ then?

Anyway, things pretty much wound down after that. Went out and got properly pissed. Been a heck of a few months, hadn't it? Later found out that the weirdness du jour had sod all to do with having two ensouled champions about the place. Just a smokescreen designed to mess with our heads, so mission accomplished there.”

Yawning she offered, “Thanks for telling me about it. And for not staking Angel when you had the chance.”

“That _would be_ your takeaway.”

“Spike.”

Stony silence.

“Would you _rather_ my takeaway be that, after following me around like a puppy for years declaring your undying love, the _first thing_ you did when you had your body back was _shag Harmony?_ ”

“Point taken. Now shut your gob and those gorgeous eyes of yours. Sun’s almost up and I can see you’re all in.”

Buffy might have taken issue with his imperious tone if she didn’t feel so sleepy. And comfy. And content. And at home. Home again in the arms of her once mortal enemy who was also possibly the best thing that had ever happened to her. On that thought, she drifted into blissful unconsciousness.

* * * *

In those last few nights in Sunnydale, when she and Spike held one another, it had been a textbook exercise in chastity. They had even managed to _share a cot_ without coming into contact with each other’s erogenous zones. Not even, Buffy had recalled later with no small amount of bitter irony the year she mourned him, by accident when one of them shifted position.

The chip might have been gone by then, but it had hardly mattered. She had, she remembered concluding with a sardonic chuckle as she lay alone in the dark one night that first year after Sunnydale, managed to truly neuter him in ways that the chip never could. Then he was gone.

These thoughts came flooding back to her when she awoke in Spike’s arms, curled into him in a way she had _never_ been before. _Like a lover._ In the _bad old days,_ she would never permit it. Not only wouldn’t she stay the night after that first time when they had collapsed side-by-side from sheer exhaustion, but she would move away from him as soon as she was physically able. Then, how had he put it, kick him in the head and run out, virtue fluttering.

Even though, she knew, had known then and not cared, that he’d wanted more from her than sex. He had wanted _tenderness, intimacy, belonging._ He had wanted to be _hers._ Cruelly, the only time he had even come close was right before she’d pulled the plug on the whole thing.

What he couldn’t have known then, what she hadn’t known herself or at least been willing to admit to herself, was that he had already started to seep in despite her best efforts to keep him at arm’s length emotionally. Even though it had been all kinds of wrong, there were moments when he seemed to know her body better than she knew it herself and through the mind-bending pleasure she would catch him watching her, not in a self-satisfied _I’m the man_ sort of way but in an _I see you and I’ve got you_ sort of way. And that would terrify her. A terror that was apparently just one more thing buried deep in a crater in Southern California because all she felt now as she lay half on top of him – her breasts pressed against his chest, her leg curled between his, her warm core enveloping his lean, muscled thigh – was contentedness and sleepy arousal.

Buffy had no idea what time it was. It was light but not bright, although the sounds of steady traffic outside suggested that the day was well underway. Then she remembered the weather forecast, which you could cut and paste for most days as far as she could tell: overcast with occasional showers. She was hungry. And thirsty. And probably had the world’s worst morning breath having been drinking whiskey before drifting off. And had to pee. She began to gently extract herself from Spike’s embrace, only to find herself in a vice-like grip and looking into a single deep-blue open eye.

“And where do you think _you’re_ going?”

“Human here, Spike. Have _biological_ needs.”

“Oh, right, sorry,” he muttered as he let her go.

She stood up and turned towards him just as he swung his feet to the floor, looking embarrassed. She frowned, wondering what that was about. Then her eyes settled on the pronounced bulge in his jeans, and she smirked.

Catching her expression, Spike ran a hand through his hair and lamented, “Can’t bloody help it, Summers. Happens when you’re in the same postcode, let alone...”

“My hot, tight little body pressed up against yours?” she interjected cheekily.

“Something like that,” he replied, rolling his eyes.

“Well,” she began as she bent down to haul her backpack over her shoulder. “I’m going to grab an enormous glass of water then head upstairs to freshen up. When I get back, we’ll see what we can do about _that._ Then you’re making me breakfast, lunch, whatever.” Her eyes pointedly and lasciviously falling to his crotch, she added, “Yeah, definitely in _that order._ ”

Spike’s look of wide-eyed wonder was so adorable that Buffy was tempted to skip the freshening up part of the plan and jump him where he sat. Only that was so late ‘01-early ‘02 and she wanted it to be different this time. _She_ _was different_ this time. They both were. Turning towards the kitchen she shot over her shoulder, “Don’t go anywhere!” He did not respond.

“Oh, and Spike?” she called out as she leaned into the fridge to grab the water pitcher.

“Yeah?”

“Turn off your damn phone.”

**TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the second time that Spike has invoked the suffragists and I think they would have captured his attention because, as we all know, he admires kickass women.


	13. Through the glory of life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "The Rip."

Buffy appraised her appearance in the mirror, smoothing her hair then adjusting the straps of her pale lavender-blue chemise. Shrugging at her reflection she muttered, “This is as good as it’s getting.”

She was suddenly nervous, worried that it would be awkward. That she would be awkward in her attempt to create a romantic moment for the two of them. To attempt _premeditated sex_. So much of her love life had been _an accident_ that as an adult, she inevitably ended up feeling a little ridiculous in _intentionally romantic_ situations. It had become even more eyeroll-inducing once she’d shrugged off the gothic angst of her ill-fated teenage romance.

Which had happened without her even realizing it, until she literally awoke one morning that first year in London to the realization that she and Angel as a _thing_ was a _thing of the past._ That she had really moved on. Moreover, that she had moved on even before the destruction of Sunnydale. That even as she’d babbled to him about cookies, her cookies were already beyond his reach.

What she had been doing with that mangled metaphor (or was it a simile...?), she’d only realized later, was letting him down easy. Because while she would always love him, she’d realized that they just didn’t fit. Not anymore. If they ever really had because, if they had, wouldn’t it have been at least a teeny bit _easier?_ As in _ever?_

Ok, so _easy_ wasn’t exactly the word one would use to describe her relationship with Spike but when it came to teetering on the brink of disaster on a typical Tuesday, also known as her old life in Sunnydale, there had been _an ease_ to them, at least until the moment it had all gone to hell but even then, they had managed to climb out together. Like they had one another sized up from the get-go.

From the first time they’d fought on parent-teacher night, she had always felt like _the real her_ in his presence. How else to explain a 16-year-old girl having the totally illogical (read: stupid) confidence to offer to drop her weapon in the presence of a century-plus-old master vampire known for having slain two slayers, and knowing, _knowing at the core of her being,_ that he would drop his? Which he had, after being lewd, of course, which had _so irritated her_ because (and this she had only admitted to herself _years later_ ) it had also _excited her_.

If her blood sang to his demon, then his demon waved hi to the demon in her that she hadn't even known existed yet. When she looked back on it, her relationships with others had always been based on the premise of _in spite of_ but she and Spike were all about _because of._ He had _always seen her,_ and God knows at her worst, and wanted her anyway. Never stopped wanting her once he started.

Buffy smiled wistfully, still nervous but suddenly overcome by the notion that he was _too far away._ With one last flip of her hair, she turned away from the mirror. It was time to go get her vampire.

* * * *

Spike was at the bottom of the spiral staircase because of course he was: same scene they’d played out so many times before, different staircase. And different circumstances. Very different. Thank God. If she had to guess, he’d been pacing and running his hands through his hair, which was now in complete and adorable disarray. And his eyes... the way they bore into hers made her grip the bannister tighter for fear her legs might fail her. 

“Were wearing that color, first time I ever set eyes on you.”

“I know.”

“You... remember what you were wearing the night we met?”

“I do.”

“Was a right evil bastard.”

“You were.”

“You were bloody gorgeous, the way you fought and, Christ, never stood a sodding chance, did I? That moment on, don’t think I ever went more than five minutes without you in here...” He tapped his head then continued, “Bane of my existence, you were. Oh, how I despised you.”

“Violently disliked you too,” she replied with a smile then just waited there a couple steps from the bottom, swimming in his eternally beautiful eyes.

“Come here,” he growled as he reached for her, plucking her from the stairway and crushing her to him as he claimed her lips in a soul-scorching kiss.

_Missedyoumissedyoumissedyoumissedyoumissedyoumissedyoumissedyoumissedyoumissedyou_

Her brain fired off that sentiment in rapid succession, as every cell in her body shouted praise to sensations it hadn’t experienced in over six years. She was vaguely aware that her feet weren’t touching the ground, that he was hauling her legs up and around his waist. She locked her legs tightly enough to render a mortal man unconscious, but she didn’t have to worry about that, didn’t have to hold back with him for fear of injuring him.

They crashed against his bedroom door; he tore his mouth from hers long enough to mutter a string of obscenities. She had no idea how he managed to open it since his hands seemed to be everywhere at once but that was okay because they were stumbling into his room and tumbling backwards onto his bed so that she ended up on top as they giggled into each other’s mouths, noses occasionally bumping as they kissed like their very existences depended on it.

The sleepy arousal she had awaken with had transitioned via nervous anticipation to primal lust the likes of which Buffy hadn’t felt since, well, Spike. Only not even then because now she was fully present in a way that she hadn’t been capable then, when she had been a shell of herself.

Her desire felt proprietary. Possessive. All-consuming. Like she wanted to own him. Consume him. Leave not a single part of him to share with anyone else. Ever. He’d tried to shag her out of his system, and now she was determined to so thoroughly shag herself into it that he would never be free of her. She was beyond rationality. Desperate with need. Out of her damned mind. And she did not care.

“You alright, love?” he panted.

“Yes,” she hissed before reclaiming those full, delicious lips. “Just need you,” she added in a soft murmur against his skin.

“Got me... Always... M’yours,” he offered softly against hers as he trailed kisses along her jawline then down to that particular spot on her neck, the one he had found straight out of the gate in that condemned building in Sunnydale and had clearly not forgotten in the long years since, causing her to utter a sound she was sure she’d never made before.

Rolling them gently so that he was on top, he hummed his approval, and it was both delicious and dangerous, like the purr of a large cat. And like a cat he was both alluring and lethal. Demon and man. Strong. Muscular. Fast. Agile. _Oooooh,_ so agile. Those expert hands with the long, elegant and skillful fingers. That a creature could be so dangerous but also so gentle, every bit as adept at delivering pleasure as pain, was a wonder to her.

As he gently glided the straps of her chemise down her arms and commenced delivering kisses to the newly exposed skin, she stopped thinking about anything but feeling his bare skin against hers and tugged at the hem of his t-shirt to signal _off._ He obliged by pushing himself up and shifting his weight from arm to arm so she could divest him of the barrier between them then sank down again and, _yessss,_ his skin was skating across hers as he moved down, down, down with her chemise, using his wonderfully gifted lips and exquisitely talented tongue to worship her.

She ran her hands over his chiseled shoulders, across the taught muscles of his upper back, sweeping up the soft skin at the back of his neck to run her fingers through his hair. As he settled in to give due attention to her breasts all she could do was gasp, moan and murmur his name, in response to which he looked up to meet her eyes as he smiled around her left nipple, and _GOD_ she could not stand it anymore.

“Need you in me!” she mewled.

So much for romance. There wasn’t going to be much finesse to this and that was ok; this wasn’t about technical prowess. This was about making what they were to each other complete, like locking in long-missing pieces of a puzzle. He lifted his head to meet her eyes again, and his were filled with a combination of wonder and infinite tenderness that made her want to cry.

“Please,” she whispered with a loving smile as she cupped his cheek.

He was uncharacteristically quiet under the circumstances, merely nodding his assent and she knew it was because he too was on the verge of tears. Then he was moving off her again and the loss of contact was excruciating if necessary, as he slid her chemise the rest of the way down her body taking her lace panties along for good measure when she raised her hips to assist.

She watched solemnly as he stood to quickly shuck his jeans, and she could barely spare the instant it took to admire the beauty of him, naked and aroused, as she held out her arms to him in supplication. He scrambled back onto the bed and into her waiting arms, lips meeting again to convey everything that words could not.

She reveled in the feel of him hard against her belly. They groaned in unison when he reached down to test her readiness for him. Oh, she was ready, alright. Had been ready ever since that last night in Sunnydale when she had secretly hoped/planned to celebrate their victory over the First like this only to find herself alone the following night. Had wanted this from the moment she knew he was back, but her stupid pride wouldn’t let her have it.

“Please, Buffy, will you?” Spike panted into her ear, still needing reassurance, absolute certainty that he was welcome.

All she could do was nod her assent then took him in hand to guide him to where he belonged, where he fit like no one before or after him. They locked eyes as he slid home, slowly, slowly, and it was a bloody revelation all over again how amazing it felt to have him inside of her. A moment of stillness, a sweet, lingering kiss and then they were moving. As though the last time they had done this was maybe six days ago, six hours even, not over six years. Muscle memory. Or maybe just closely held memories of one another.

She knew it wouldn’t last long, not this first time, but of course he made sure she was _seen to_ before it was over with another clever maneuver he’d clearly remembered from the old days. She came with a strangled cry, spasming around him and bringing on his release as he sobbed her name and collapsed on top of her. In the silence that followed, Buffy heard a bird chirping happily outside the bedroom window and smiled as she drew lazy circles on Spike’s back.

For the first time in a long time, she felt like she was exactly where she belonged. In her mind’s eye she pictured that girl in the alley behind the Bronze, the girl tied up in knots over her first great love affair with a vampire as she looked into the face of the vampire now on top of and, semi-flaccid, inside of her. Smirking, she imagined herself walking up to that girl and saying, “Babe, have _I_ got news for _you_.”

Spike still hadn’t spoken, and she was beginning to worry since, in contrast to the stereotype of how men and women typically behaved in moments like this, he tended to be the chattier of the two in the afterglow. Hugging him tighter to her she asked, “Hey, you with me?”

“Yeah.”

“You okay?”

“Dunno. Thought I might have dusted there for a mo.”

“I assure you, you did not. Totally solid.” She shifted slightly beneath him.

“Sorry, love, am I...” He started to move off of her but she stopped him, holding him to her in a vicelike grip.

“No, don’t. Please stay. Missed you... missed you inside me. Nobody else feels like this... nobody ever... _no one,_ ” she tacked on pointedly.

Lifting his head, he quirked an eyebrow and replied, “Is that so?”

She nodded solemnly even as her eyes danced playfully with his. Some of the old swagger was back... as in _everywhere._ _Already?!?!_ Oh, right, vampire. Or at least _this_ vampire anyway.

“Well then,” Spike crooned then rolled them over and gently propelled her into a seated position astride him and continued, “Want you to ride me, Summers. Want to lie back and admire the view while you have your wicked way with me.”

Buffy expelled a shuddering breath at the sensation of Spike filling her from a new angle and watched through heavy lids as he laced his fingers behind his head with a look of supreme satisfaction. “Oh, you’re asking for it, Buddy,” she warned as she recalled a clever maneuver of her own that instantly transformed his expression from smug to tortured.

“And you’re gonna get it,” she added then proceeded to give it to him.

* * * *

As the morning yielded to afternoon, Buffy and Spike continued to re-explore and rediscover one another. Sometimes reverentially. Other times playfully. And once with such passionate intensity that they were both surprised to find the bed still intact afterwards.

When the growling of Buffy’s stomach had grown too loud to ignore – particularly for Spike, whose head had been resting just below her navel after wringing several orgasms from her with his fingers and tongue – they had each made a cursory attempt at cleaning off bodies sticky with comingled bodily fluids then Buffy threw on her chemise and Spike his jeans before heading into the kitchen for sustenance. Conversation had been light and flirtatious with virtually no reference to the world outside. With full bellies they had shucked their attire again and collapsed onto the bed to fall into a well-earned food-and-sex coma in each other's arms.

When Buffy awoke to find Spike staring adoringly at her, she shot him a sleepy smile and asked, “What time is it?”

“Near sunset.”

“Wow, we slept the day away.”

“Not all we did.”

Flopping onto her back she observed, “God, I thought I remembered what it was like, but no. It’s... I don’t know, it feels different... _better.”_

“I’m no mental health expert, but I imagine _not wanting to die all the time_ has something to do with it.”

Turning to meet his gaze she replied, “Yeah, probably, but it’s also about _you,_ Spike. I'm not being a coward, running away from my own feelings, anymore. You never were. When it comes to feelings, you’re the bravest person I’ve ever known. No matter what it cost you.”  


“Or how mightily I bollocksed things,” he replied with a knowing look then thought for a moment and brightened.

“I just had the _best_ idea.”

“I’ll bet you did,” she replied with a lascivious grin.

“C’mon,” he advised, casting the sheet aside then giving her a quick peck on the lips before hopping out of bed. “Let’s get showered and dressed.”

_Huh???_

“There’s something I wasn’t expecting to hear for... the next week or six,” she remarked.

“Worry not, love, plan on shagging you ‘til neither of us can walk, but right now I want to take you out.”

_Out?_

“It’s, ya know, Friday night,” he stated in reply to her unvoiced question, looking almost shy as he stood at the foot of the bed. Well, as shy as anyone could look stark naked.

_Out... duh._ Spike wanted to take Buffy out on a date. 

“Oh, boy,” she muttered as she got up to follow him into the bathroom.

* * * *

Showering had taken longer than strictly necessary with Buffy needing to fully regain the use of her quivering legs before she could finish washing up after Spike had insisted on _a little something to_ _hold them over_ while they were out in public. As if out in public would be an impediment; it certainly wasn’t in the old days and, thus far, she had seen zero evidence that ensoulment had made Spike a prude. It was nearly full dark when they emerged from the house and climbed onto his bike to head for parts unknown. To her anyway.

There was no mistaking him for anything other than a local boy. He knew his way around, keeping off the main roads and out of the worst of the usual Friday night traffic as they wound their way through the increasingly quiet streets until they were out of the city entirely and flying down a country road. She held onto him tightly and enjoyed the feeling of freedom to just be out in the world with him and not having to rescue a loved one or deal with some potentially-world-ending crisis.

They were on the road just shy of an hour when he pulled to a stop at the third, or maybe fourth (she’d lost count), village they had ridden through. Climbing off the bike, he turned and removed the helmet he insisted that she wear and set it on his seat then said, “Hope you’re hungry, pet.”

“Sure,” she said with a shrug then followed him into the pub where they were greeted by a chorus of ‘Spikes!’ that was like something straight out of _Cheers._

“What brings you here on a Friday, love?” the matronly woman with kind eyes asked from behind the bar, adding, “Usually see you on poetry night.”

“Taking the lady out for a spin in the country and wanted to treat her to proper roast and veg and nobody does a roast and veg better than you, Deirdre,” he replied with a wink.

Deirdre’s answering smile confirmed what Buffy had already known. Spike could charm the pants off a nun. If nuns wore pants. Did nuns wear pants? She thought some of them did these days.

“Deidre, this is Buffy.”

“Buffy?”

He shot her an amused sidelong glance. She replied with a discreet eyeroll then answered, “Yes, Buffy, and it’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” the publican replied.

“So,” Spike inquired with a sniff. “What’s on tonight?”

“We have the lamb, per usual. The special is Gammon... think we have a few left. And a lovely Dover sole. But I know all you’ll order is the spicy wings.”

“You know me too well. I’ll have the wings and...” He turned to Buffy and asked, “What shall it be, pet?”

“Since you’re buying, the Dover sole,” she replied with a smirk then turned to find them a table and shot over her shoulder, “and the house pale ale, the regular not IPA.”

“See you’ve got your English ales sorted,” he observed.

“This ain’t my first rodeo. I’ve spent a lot of time over here,” she replied with a shrug as she claimed a two-top in the corner.

“And a porter for me, Dee. Ta.”

“I like her,” Deirdre said with a sly smile.

“Me too,” Spike replied, beaming.

* * * *

Because he was a regular and obviously well-liked, the guys playing darts teased Spike amiably in front of his lady friend. Because they were British, they politely waited until Buffy and he had finished eating to do so. After introductions were made, they were cordially invited to join in on darts. Spike declined but Buffy agreed.

“Ever play before?” one of them asked.

“Once or twice,” she replied with a shrug.

Knowing full well how this would play out, Spike grabbed another pint then settled in as his mates politely reminded her of the rules and shared some pointers. Then he watched with proud amusement as she wiped the floor with the lot of them. Fortunately, they were more interested in hanging out than bragging rights, so she didn’t have to deal with bruised egos and ended up having a lot of fun, ultimately buying a round for the guys for being such good sports.

“Oi, Spike, the lady’s got beauty, brains, class _and_ can play darts? What in bloody blazes is she doing with the likes of _you_?”

Raising his pint glass, Spike replied with a grin, "Hell if I know.”

They walked out with the last patrons as Deirdre was closing for the night and one of them asked, “Be seeing you at the next poetry night, then?”

“Not sure, will have to see what’s going on.”

“Well, hope you make it. Not the same without you. You’re developing a little fan club.”

As Buffy followed Spike past the bike and up the road, she said, “Everyone was so nice. You should definitely come to the next poetry night. I’ll come with, pending any looming apocalypses.”

“No.”

“What?”

“Word means the same thing over here, Summers.”

“No, as in I’m not invited to come with you to poetry night?”

“Got it in one.”

“Why not?”

“It’s personal.”

“ _Personal?_ Like three hours ago I had my... in your... but you won’t read your poetry in front of me because it’s _personal?_ ”

“We having our first fight?”

“First? Hardly.”

“I mean as...”

“No,” she conceded with an exaggerated sigh then inquired, “Where are we going? The bike’s parked back there.”

“Bit of a walkabout. Nice night. Pretty patch of country out here.”

They walked on in companionable silence and he was right. It was a beautiful moonlit night, and it was pretty as they headed down a lane with a pasture to the left with what looked in the moonlight like fat cottonballs dotting the landscape, which she deduced from the occasional bleat to be sheep, and a high stone wall to the right. Itching to move Buffy vaulted herself up onto the wall, walked along the top for a few feet with Spike continuing down below, then backflipping down to land right in front of him.

“Showoff,” he remarked with a smile.

“I train almost every day with the slayers, and Faith brought out my competitive streak while I was in Cleveland which I feel like took me to another level. Besides, I barely get injured anymore so zero recovery time to interfere with training,” she tacked on with a shrug.

“That is a good thing,” he said, pulling her into a tight hug then muttering, “Thank you for this... this night. It was like a dream come true. New best night of my life.”

“It’s not over,” she replied with a contented sigh. It felt so good to be in his arms.

When they parted to walk back to the bike, he tentatively reached for her hand and she gladly took his. She was determined to give him everything she had once steadfastly denied. The ride home was even lovelier than the ride out, so pleasant that she was almost sorry to see it end. As they approached his front stoop, she offered, “This was a great date, Spike. _So much better_ than our last one.” 

“Very fun...” She turned to see him stopped at the bottom of the steps, looking wary. 

“Something wrong?” 

“What? No,” he replied, shaking off whatever had given him pause. 

“Then come on,” she coaxed, holding out her hand to him. “I’ve got plans for you, Big Bad.” 

**TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another chapter that has a soundtrack. I imagine the instrumental bridge from "The Rip" playing as Buffy and Spike speed off together into the night on his bike: <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kBOaLjtR4mw>


	14. And the tenderness I feel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still borrowing chapter titles from "The Rip" for this one.

When Buffy and Spike emerged from bed around noon on Saturday, they agreed that the responsible thing to do would be to make sure that disaster wasn’t unfolding outside of the sweet cocoon they had created for themselves. Unspoken but ever present since she had first arrived on Thursday night was the fact that they still didn’t know what was up with the fledges or who was behind the attack on Viv, and both had been through enough crises to know that the longer the period of relative calm, the bigger the storm would be when it came.

Buffy was checking her voicemail when Spike walked into the living room with a mug of coffee for her, grinning at the sight of her sitting on his sofa with her legs tucked under her, wearing one of his black t-shirts and... well, that was it. She smiled back at him as she listened to Dawn’s voice playing back to her then said, “Anything on your end?”

“Just a message from Charlie that there’s no change. What’s on yours?” he asked nodding at her phone.

“Dawn left me a message this morning asking if everything is ok. She was in the neighborhood and popped into HQ to see if I wanted to get coffee or brunch.”

“No sense in worrying the Bit. Call her. Need to make you something to eat anyway.”

“You do that. I’m burning a lot of calories and need to keep my strength up,” she joked as she hit speed dial on her phone.

"Hey, is everything okay?” Dawn asked when she picked up on the second ring.

“Hi Dawnie, it’s fine.”

“Where are you? When I stopped by HQ, they said you weren’t around, had been away for a few days dealing with something. Anything to do with the latest Big Bad?”

“Not the _latest_ Big Bad, no, but a Big Bad, or _so he’d like to think_ anyway.”

Spike ducked his head out of the kitchen to shoot her a look that read: _You’re telling her?_ She shrugged and nodded simultaneously. He stood in the archway, apparently eager to see this unfold.

“Wha.... wait, are you telling me you’re _with Spike?_ Please tell me you’re with Spike. _”_

“Got it in one, as he likes to say.”

Dawn’s answering squeal was eardrum-piercing, compelling Buffy to flinch and hold the phone away from her ear.

“Think Nibblet’s on board,” Spike observed with a smile.

“What gave it away?” she quipped then added, “It’s been ages since she shattered an eardrum.”

“Hey, Buffy! You still there?”

Buffy put the phone back up to her ear and commented, “That was a totally adult reaction.”

“I know, you should see the looks I just got in the bread aisle at Tesco. I’m just so happy for you two.”

“Chill, Dawn. We’re spending time... together, getting to know one another again but I... I don’t want to keep it from you. I don’t want to keep it from anyone I’m close to, but I think it’s best to be discreet at HQ for now. The girls already have Spike built up as some kind of romantic hero bad boy stud.”

He rocked back on his heels in that cocksure way of his that was both supremely irritating and ridiculously sexy. She rolled her eyes then, as he turned away to resume what he was doing in the kitchen, continued into the phone, “How’s your weekend going?”

“Who cares? I can guarantee not as well as yours. I can’t wait to hear all about it. Well... not _all_ because _Ew_.”

With a sly smile Buffy replied, “Well, that’s not going to leave much to tell.”

“Ugh, you two, I swear. Anyway, don’t let me keep you from _getting reacquainted._ Call me in a few days. Maybe we can have lunch one day next week.”

“Sounds good. Love you, Dawn. Be safe.”

“You too. And try to minimize the property damage. I like Spike’s place. It’s homey.”

“I promise _nothing_ ,” Buffy shot back then hung up, grabbed her mug off the coffee table and took a sip, humming contentedly.

“What’s the Bit up to this weekend?” Spike inquired when he re-entered the room with what appeared to be a sandwich heaped with bacon and sliced fresh fruit on the side. She could definitely get used to having him meet every one of her basic needs.

“The usual, I guess. She was much more interested in _our_ weekend than her own.”

Setting the plate, a fork and napkin in front of her then taking a seat beside her he observed, “She seems singularly uninterested in affairs of the heart, her own anyway.”

After swallowing a big bite of sandwich Buffy elaborated, “She met a boy in Bath that first year... her first real love but it didn’t survive their first term at college with her in Exeter and him up in Aberdeen. Took a while for her to recover from that then she dated some in college, left a trail of disappointed classics majors and I think at least one budding anthropologist, but nothing stuck.

In fact, her roommate is actually an ex but that went from a potential romance to friendship pretty quickly. She has grown into a very independent, self-sufficient human who is legit content with her own company most of the time. I guess she didn’t really have a choice in the matter,” she tacked on with a frown as she toyed with the fruit on her plate.

“Hey,” Spike offered with a tender squeeze to her ankle. She turned to look at him. “Did the best you could in shite circumstances, trying to be mum to a sprog when you were barely more than a sprog yourself. Tall enough order under normal conditions and both know conditions were anything but. Important thing is she’s gotten this far and wouldn’t have done without _you_.”

“I know,” Buffy replied as her eyes fell back to her plate. “Of people to worry about, Dawn shouldn’t be high on anyone’s list. I mean, look at her, killing it out there, living a life I never would have imagined for her back in Sunnydale. And she did that all on her own by working her ass off.

Still... sometimes I worry... it’s not like she’s had a lot to emulate in the healthy relationships department. Between Mom and me, the take-home is that _men leave._ Not that I think she needs to be paired off right now to have a good life or anything but I... I just worry sometimes that she thinks it’s not worth the risk of getting hurt or isn’t worth the trouble because it won’t last.”

“Buffy, look at me.” She did and he was looking at her the way he did that night in the abandoned house in Sunnydale. No one else in the world looked at her that way. Ever.

“Spent a bit of time studying Summers women, haven’t I, and here’s what I’ve managed to suss out. Love is your strength. Bends but doesn’t break. Strong enough to hold the whole bleedin’ world together and has done. More than once.

One day some totally unworthy bloke, ‘cause that’s the only kind what exists present company included, will suit her fancy and it’ll be right. Meantime, she’s all in on her Latin, Greek, sodding Aramaic and whatnot, and she’s got you, which is a damn sight more than most people got. Don’t think I’ve said it yet, have I?”

“What?”

“I bloody well love you, Buffy Summers.”

“You’ve said that before, lots of times,” she responded with a wide smile because, damn, it felt good to hear it again after so long.

“Yeah, but not lately. And not with you snug in _my_ parlor, wearing _my_ t-shirt and... sod all. Now finish your butty like a good girl. Gonna put on some music then peel off that t-shirt of mine and shag you on the floor right there then maybe there.” He pointed then got up and paced over to the stereo.

“Spike?” she said around a mouthful of sandwich.

“Yeah?” he replied while rifling through his LPs on an apparent hunt for G _reatest Punk Hits to Shag to._

She swallowed down her bite of sandwich, then declared, _“_ I love you too and if you tell me I don’t, so help me I’ll break your nose.”

He paused for a moment but did not turn around then resumed flipping through his LP collection while she finished every last bite of her breakfast.

* * * *

“The river is so peaceful here, it’s hard to believe we’re even in the city anymore,” Buffy remarked as they walked along a quiet section of the Thames.

They were on their way home from Hammersmith where Spike had introduced her to a couple of his favorite spots along the river for a pint. Even though she had eaten before they left, she had also snarfed an order of truly excellent chips and, God help her, a sticky toffee pudding because, all joking aside, she had forgotten how much energy she could burn having marathon sex with an undead guy with virtually zero refractory period.

“I feel like I’ve seen the outdoor seating area at The Rutland Arms on TV or something.”

“Probably have. Think it’s been used as a location for police procedurals and the like. The Dove’s got a long, storied history in all. Tradition has it, James Thomson wrote the poem what became the words to _Rule Britannia_ there.”

“You’re seriously like a walking encyclopedia. Hard to believe there was a time I thought you were just a dangerous idiot hellbent on destruction.”

“Have to take you to The Cambridge in Soho sometime. That was the Sex Pistols’ local.”

“Aw, there he is,” she teased then reached for his hand and asked, “What was it like here when... when _William_ lived here?”

  
Looking up at the sky he responded, “Dirtier, smellier. Thing about this town is that the new just layers on top of the old. It’s all here, just under the surface... the good, the bad, the very bad... city full of ghosts.”

“You spent time here... _after?_ ”

“On and off over the years, yeah, but it was never really home again. ‘Course no place was. Vampires don’t really have homes, itinerant by nature and necessity.”

“I call bullshit on that, Spike. You made a halfway decent home of a crypt, for Christ’s sake. You _craved_ home so much that once you started turning up at mine, I couldn’t get rid of you.”

“Yeah, well, always been a hopeless git, haven’t I? William the Bloody Wanker. Was a time I thought Dru changed all that but, of course, she didn’t. All I wanted was to care for her, please her. Would’ve followed her out into the sun if she’d asked. Sound familiar?”

“Do you ever miss her?” Spike stopped and turned to look at her, searching her eyes in the amber light illuminating the path. “It’s okay if you do,” she assured. “You literally would not be here without her, and you were together _a long time_.”

“Sometimes I miss the _simplicity,_ the _certainty_ of it. Nothing with you’s ever been simple or certain. But now... see, what they _don’t_ teach you at vampire school is that what you lose when you regain your soul is the simplicity and the certainty. That, above all else, the soul makes _everything_ complicated. Wasn’t until _after_ that I finally understood why you fought me tooth and nail outside the police station.”

Buffy’s stomach churned at the memory and she held his hand tighter then muttered, “That wasn’t a fight, it was a _massacre.”_

“Yeah, well, was also me failing you because I didn’t, _couldn’t_ understand because I was absolutely, positively _certain_ that I was right in trying to shield you from the consequences of your actions... or, well, what we both _thought_ the consequences were. Didn’t understand _that_ part of you, the part what keeps someone with your immense strength and power on the straight and narrow, from going off like Lehane or even Red when, God knows, life’s given you reason enough.”

Shaking her head, she replied, “But I _did_ go off and you know it. Because you were there. Hell, _you_ were the target.”

“ _Willing_ target, until you couldn’t do it anymore because, low as you were feeling in those days, you were still essentially _you,_ love. Couldn’t live with using _anyone_ , not even a dead, soulless thing.”

“You were _so much more_ than that. Even then. It wasn’t because I didn’t love you, you know. I think it... it was because I was _starting to_.”

“Never would have understood that then, pet,” he stated as he pulled her closer to press his forehead to hers. “Do now.”

* * * *

Buffy was in an uncharacteristically good mood for a Monday morning, particularly for the wee hours of a Monday morning just as dawn was breaking. Coming off the best weekend she’d had in, well ever maybe, might have been a bummer if Spike hadn’t accompanied her to HQ where he was currently sacked out in the training room. They had agreed that it probably wasn’t a good idea for him to join her when she went up to her room to drop off her things since keeping their hands off of one another was proving next to impossible, and her headboard banging against the wall and waking up the entire building would likely undermine the whole discretion thing.

Besides, she concluded as she proceeded to unpack her bag, it was nice to have some time to herself to process everything that had transpired in the 80 or so hours since she had stood in the same spot to pack it. Same spot, different Buffy. Of that she was certain. Something had fundamentally changed in her and she knew what it was: she finally grasped the concept of grown-up _intimacy_ because, at the age of 27, she was finally experiencing it.

For years she had known that the closest she’d ever come was with Spike, but with only some of the pieces in place at any given time – first the mind-blowing sex without the respect and understanding then the respect and understanding without the mind-blowing sex. This weekend, for the first time, all the pieces had fallen spectacularly into place. Sure, they had fucked, like a lot even by the rigorous standards they had long ago set for themselves, but they had also talked, and walked, and driven to the country, and listened to music (while fucking but also while not fucking) but were also silent in each other’s company and utterly unbothered by that silence.

They had shared a bath with Spike methodically washing and conditioning her hair while telling her about attending the 1871 International Exhibition in South Kensington with his mother and aunt. Lying in bed together, naked and satiated, she had softly recounted to him the last, horrible weekend before her father had left the family for good. It was one of her worst memories which, because her, was really saying something and it had been years since she had uttered a word about it to anyone.

At least as far back as Glory, she had come to rely on him like no one else. They had been moving towards one another even earlier than that, probably ever since ever, haltingly with many bumps in the road, but the journey had been interrupted. Now it had resumed at warp speed and it was both exhilarating and, well, terrifying. Because....

_It could all go to hell in an instant. Ah, there you are, voice in my head. I was wondering where you had wandered off to. No point in sulking, the damage is done. I went and flung myself into this and stopping now is SO not on the table._

Shaking her head, she tossed her bag onto the floor of her closet then pulled her hair into a workday ponytail and headed out. On her way to the training room, she spotted the library door ajar, which was unusual at that hour, so she took a detour to see what was up.

“You’re in early,” she remarked when she found Giles seated at his desk.

“Buffy, I’m glad you’re back. I was going to wait until a reasonable hour then call you if you hadn’t turned up. I trust that you had a fine weekend away?”

She gulped. Damn, she had been hoping to at least get a cup of coffee, or six, into her before she’d have to muster the courage to tell him. While she wasn’t about to broadcast the change in status of her relationship with Spike around HQ, she had no intention of keeping it from Giles. Particularly after the (okay, deserved) lecture she had gotten weeks earlier. Besides, she wanted Spike to know, without question, that she was not feeling the least bit ashamed.

She took a deep breath and began, “I wasn’t away... exactly. I mean, I wasn’t _here_ but I was in town. I... was... I spent the weekend with Spike.”

And, just like that, she was 17 again. She mentally slapped herself then waited for the removal of the glasses. Perhaps followed by the hand press to the forehead and the eyes of the long-suffering squeezing tightly shut. And, finally, _“Buffy, have you any idea... blah, blah, blah.”_

As she stood there, at the threshold of an argument, something hit her that she hadn’t pondered in ages: how precious the man seated in front of her was to her, more of a father to her and Dawn than Hank had been on his best day. Her lips quirked but she stifled the smile, figuring that grinning like an idiot would not help her cause. Only, she realized, the glasses were still on his face. She furrowed her brow.

Glancing down at his desk with an expression that was equal parts resignation and _amusement(?)_ , Giles replied, “Right, well, I don’t suppose that Spike accompanied you this morning because that would be most convenient.”

_Okay..._

“He’s in the training room. Mike drove us in before sunrise.”

  
“Mike?”

“Spike’s driver.”

“Spike has a...” Giles shook his head and continued, “Never mind, the important thing is that we can get an early start.”

_Early start? On? Duh... of course._

“Way to kick it old school, Giles.”

“I don’t follow.”

“I walk in in a really good mood and you tell me something to spoil it.”

He shrugged guiltily.

“Knew I could count on you.”

**TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that Spike is taking Buffy to a lot of pubs but any self-respecting pub is like 110,000 times better then the world's lamest hot spot, The Bronze. I honestly do not know how he ever put up with the stench of Teen Spirit and all that emo music. He's a bloody saint if you ask me. ;-)


	15. And nothing is so bad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Nylon Smile."

“I win,” Buffy panted with a wicked grin as she straddled Spike, pinning his arms to the floor of the training room. He smirked up at her. “Gonna beg for mercy?” she added with a triumphant smile.

His smirk evolved into a grin of the shit-eating variety then he murmured, “Do you worst, Slayer.”

_Do not tempt me._

God, he felt good, firm and refreshingly cool even after the exertion of a totally satisfying sparring session, because dead guy. The point hadn’t been to deliver blows but, rather, to keep one another in constant motion, to let off some steam. And, well, mission accomplished.

The previous two days had been long and seemingly fruitless, spent mostly in the library trying to make heads or tails of the report Giles had received over the weekend from the Cardiff office – that local demon contacts were suddenly aflutter with rumor of a major player somewhere up north. Short on detail as the reports were, it was their reverent nature that had given the head watcher in Cardiff pause and compelled her to contact Giles because, as everyone in their line of work knew, demons that impressed other demons were generally bad news for everyone else.

And so, they had been preoccupied with trying to piece together what connection, if any, this report might have to the fledges, the rave, the attack on Viv, Spike. Operating on the assumption that whoever or whatever had a serious enough bone to pick to follow him across an ocean had to have run afoul of ASG Investigations – this couldn’t possibly be about a grudge resulting from an underground poker game or a particularly competitive poetry slam – he’d racked his brain for a connection between any of their recent operations and Wales, London or any points in between, coming up empty. As did both Angel and Gunn who had combed their case files while wrangling a still-oddly-behaving Old One. So, in short, situation normal in the Wonderful World of Weird.

Having upturned every stone they could think of, they were no closer to figuring out what in the actual and she could tell it was wearing on him. In spite of recent developments of a more pleasant nature, she knew that Spike still harbored guilt over Viv’s attack and was anxious to get to the bottom of it. As was she. Not only on Viv’s behalf, which would have been reason enough, but because there was ostensibly someone or something out there (quiet as he, she or it had gone of late) gunning for her vampire when she’d just gotten him back.

Lovely as the hours away from HQ were, with Buffy discreetly accompanying Spike home after dark the last couple nights, returning with him before dawn in the morning, and spending virtually all the precious time in between in his arms sleeping and _not sleeping,_ the uncertainty hung over them until, finding him pacing and agitated in the training room, she had proposed a little rough and tumble of the clothed variety. Only now, astride his body gazing into that handsomely smug grin of his, her body was quickly moving on to other ideas. She squeezed him tighter with her thighs, flashing him a warning with her eyes and could swear the blue of his eyes grew two shades darker in reply.

Momentarily frozen on the cusp of action, they were interrupted by a throat clearing. Loudly. Buffy looked up and Spike tilted his head back to follow her gaze to Giles standing in the doorway, glasses already off as he produced a cloth with which to polish them.

“We were sparring,” Buffy explained, doing her best to sound convincing and, again, it was like the last ten years had been erased and her teenage self was trying to convince her watcher not to believe his lying eyes.

“Ah... yes.”

“We thought it might be useful to do a demonstration of some of our more epic fights for the newer trainees. Replay some of our greatest hits,” she added.

“Right, well perhaps... it might be... a bit more... if you were rather less...”

Spike looked back at Buffy, raising an eyebrow. She pressed her lips together to keep from smiling.

“Conjoined.”

_But some of our greatest hits involved... conjoining._

She kept that thought to herself and, with an amiable shrug, released her hold on Spike then stood up, dusted herself off and offered him a hand up. He took it, springing to his feet beside her as Giles advised, “In any case, with Willow’s train due to arrive shortly, I thought you might want to skip this afternoon’s training session.”

“Shit, I forgot,” Buffy stated.

“I thought you might have,” Giles remarked pointedly then, apparently confident that he wouldn’t see anything that would haunt his dreams, put his glasses back on.

* * * *

“Spike!” Willow exclaimed when he entered the foyer to join Buffy, Giles and Vi in greeting her.

“Red,” he replied with a nod.

“I can’t believe it. You’re real... you’re really here. I mean, I knew you were _here_ as in on this astral plane, and Giles had told me you were in London and, you know, working with the Council, but I guess it’s still a shock to see you _here_ as in right in front of my face.”

“Yeah, turns out takes more than a sodding trinket to keep old William the Bloody down,” he replied with a shrug.

“I just... wow,” Willow muttered then moved towards him to pull him into a tentative, awkward, and oddly sweet hug that, judging by the expression on his face, came as a complete surprise to Spike. Buffy finally understood the phrase ‘heart swelled’ because, well, hers did at the sight of one of her oldest friends welcoming Spike back into the fold with such genuine and heartfelt enthusiasm.

“Well, I should get back to work,” Giles announced, adding, “I trust you will find everything in order in your room.”

“Thanks, Giles,” Willow offered as she disengaged from her embrace with Spike.

“Right, I should... probably... you know.... training... sprogs,” Spike stammered, rubbing the back of his neck in that adorable way of his when he was feeling out of sorts, and Buffy realized that exactly how adorable she found it was probably written all over her face.

“Yes, training, good,” she concurred, nodding rapidly as she felt her face flush, acutely aware of both red heads glancing between the two of them then exchanging looks with one another.

“C’mon, vampire,” Vi mercifully interjected with a gesture in the direction of the training room.

“There are slayers to train and your ass isn’t going to kick itself,” she tacked on with a smirk. Rolling his eyes, he followed without another word leaving Buffy and Willow alone.

With a sly smile Willow offered, “HR Higgins after I drop my stuff in my room?”

“Oh my God, yes,” Buffy replied rolling her eyes as she hauled the larger of her friend’s two quilted bags over her shoulder.

* * * *

Buffy stirred her latte for about the 80th time before she worked up the nerve to look up to find Willow sitting relaxed across the café table with her arms folded at her chest, a serene if vaguely expectant expression gracing her lovely face. She slowly quirked an auburn eyebrow at the slayer.

“What?”

Willow’s second eyebrow joined the first. Buffy blinked twice, swallowed once then blurted, “Okay, so I’ve spent every night for almost a week at Spike’s and we’re having _so much sex_ that it’s a wonder I can even walk!”

They were both startled by a loud crash and turned to see a red-faced young man wearing an apron crouching on the floor and casting furtive glances in their direction as he picked up the shard remains of a cup and saucer. Turning back to her dear friend, Buffy saw amusement dancing in her eyes then, ducking her head, inquired softly, “Well? Aren’t you going to say something? What are you thinking?”

Willow calmly raised her steaming cup to her lips, blew into it to cool her Iron Goddess Oolong tea then replied, “I’m thinking that _I’m_ having a boring summer. Tell me everything.”

* * * *

With Willow having joined Giles _in the know_ , albeit with more details than he had requested (which were none) or would ever want (as in any), everyone on the need-to-know list (for now) did. While Buffy hadn’t spoken explicitly to Vi, her colleague was no fool and her actions signaled that she too was on board with the _discretion is the greater part of valor_ thing.

This left Buffy feeling both profoundly relieved and positively giddy as she spent the afternoon in the library with Giles and Willow, whereupon returning from their extended girls’ coffee-and-tea-turned-lunch break, she and the former filled in the latter on any details she had left out of her earlier, more intimate narrative. Spike joined them in the late afternoon, after training had finished for the day.

Buffy was seated on the sofa with Willow seated beside her reading, and Giles was seated at his desk shuffling papers. Spike was leaning against a bookcase and being totally unhelpful – looking bored, fidgeting, and trying to get her attention. Occasionally he succeeded and would cast her a heated glare or raise the gorgeously marred eyebrow at her, but she was doing her best to ignore him while failing abysmally at not smirking at the sensation of his eyes on her.

The overnight hours at home were too few and it was only Wednesday; the weekend was still 4,000 years away. God, they were like high school kids except that she never got to be this way in high school. In high school she was _the Slayer_ and her high school sweetheart turned into a soulless demon she had to send to Hell to save the world. Then he came back. Only to leave again. For good.

_Good times._

“I’m back, Baby!” Xander boomed as he entered the library.

“Caffe Nero all around! Giles, Will, Buffy, Spike, I’m sorry Spike I didn’t know... Spike!!!” The cardboard carrier bearing four takeaway cups hit the ground in an explosion of mochas and lattes, a considerable amount splashing up the front of the person who had been carrying them.

Yanking off his glasses, Giles pressed the back of his hand to his forehead and muttered grimly, “The carpets were cleaned last week. Have you any idea what that costs these days?”

And, just like that, there was one more person to read in and this one might not take it so well. Buffy sighed heavily. Meeting Buffy’s eyes Willow leapt into action.

“I’ll get it,” she offered then bounded off in search of a cloth of some kind. Preferably, a large one.

“Was gonna ask how you were, Harris, but no need. See you’re still a berk,” Spike offered without solicitation, apparently deciding to go all in on the unhelpful thing.

Looking around the room, bewildered, Xander entreated, “Somebody... anybody... wanna fill me in here!?!?”

“Spike’s in London!” Buffy chirped, realizing even as the words were flying out of her mouth how dumb they sounded, rather like the robot version of herself that the vampire in question had once built as an animatronic sex toy... and at that moment it dawned on her that she really should cut herself some slack because it was truly a miracle that she had managed to hold onto even a shred of sanity.

God(dess?) Bless Her, Willow promptly returned with a damp cloth and commanded, “Sit!” to Xander, pointing to a vacant chair in the corner as she knelt to gather up the pile of upended cups. He absently did as he was told, stumbling to the chair, and collapsing onto it. Giles jumped in, providing Xander with a ‘just the facts’ version of recent events, interrupting the narrative more than once to remind Willow to ‘blot, don’t rub’ then seamlessly picking up where he left off. When he was finished the momentary silence left Buffy wondering if that would suffice. She didn’t have to wonder for long.

“And... you two?” Xander asked pointedly, because of course he did.

She looked over at Spike, whose expression read ‘This one’s all yours, Slayer’ then, setting her jaw, replied, “Are spending time together. Away from HQ. Like _a lot._ As much as we both can spare. Any questions?”

The ensuing silence was longer than the previous one and positively deafening, broken only when Willow stood up and declared, “I’m waving the no longer white flag here.” Holding up the heavily-stained cloth for emphasis, she added “I don’t think I even have _a spell_ for this. Xander, help me get rid of this mess.”

As they scooped up the cups and carried them off to discard, Buffy turned to read Spike’s expression and was greeted with a look that suggested she wouldn’t be getting _any_ sleep tonight. Which _totally_ worked for her. She hadn’t touched him in hours _._ Which, seriously, was just too damn long.

**TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Clothed) Buffy astride (clothed) Spike is one of my favorite tropes from The Canon, my absolute favorite being the cold open of Tabula Rasa with Spike looking back at Mr. Chompers. The vantage point from over Spike's head is just squeeeeeee! Also a fan of (later) Joan just blithely lounging on Randy as though she belongs there even though for all practical purposes, they've just met. Because, as we all know, she does. ;-)


	16. Won’t scare me tonight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Deep Water."

Spike was taking advantage of having the library to himself to indulge in his love of books, which didn’t exactly fit with his bad boy image. Never had, which was why he had often sneaked off on his own to libraries in the _old days_ , occasionally going so far as to spare the librarian out of respect for the profession. Okay, not often, but more than once. On one occasion, in the 1930s, he had even spared a particularly delicious bird up in Manchester because she’d had that flinty look in her eye, one that telegraphed she would not surrender easily, that she might be his meal but would never be his victim. Because, truth be told, he had always had a soft spot for that type of bird, and even at his most evil found the world to be an eminently more interesting place with that type of bird in it.

Which, upon years of post-ensoulment reflection, he had concluded was the source of his fascination with slayers. They were never his victims either, not even the ones who’d died by his hand. They were worthy opponents, fallen in battle, and he wore what others saw as trophies as tributes, one literally on his skin in the form of the y-shaped scar gracing his left eyebrow and one as his second skin – sadly, in replica form ever since his and Angel’s ill-fated trip to Rome, and he had privately mourned the loss of that direct connection to Nikki ever since. They had each been spectacular and, in retrospect, he realized that in their mortal contests he had felt an odd sort of love for them, albeit dark and twisted and in all possible ways wrong. But neither had held a candle to his complete and utter unmaking, his Waterloo: Buffy Anne Summers.

_No, Spike, it’s gonna hurt a lot._

He smiled wistfully as he delicately caressed the spine of a book. God, she had been so young then and had him beat long before he’d realized because she’d surprised him and thwarted him at every turn and was never boring and burned so brilliantly that more than once in those Sunnydale years, he had considered walking out into the sun for relief from the sheer blinding light of her. And if he roamed the Earth for another 1,000 years – not bloody likely with the type of years he put in but never mind that – he doubted that he would ever fully get his head around the _complete and total mind-bending wonder_ of the last seven days.

_And what have we here?_

His eyes fell upon the spine of what looked like it might well be a first edition of Kant’s _Critique of Pure Reason_ and his fingers itched as he wondered, fleetingly, if Rupert would even miss it.

_‘Course he would, you pillock._

Besides, he silently recited with a roll of his eyes, _nicking things was wrong_ unless it was out of absolute necessity or in an emergency like hotwiring that car in Ciudad Juárez last year and what a bloody brilliant caper that had been. Even Peaches had been forced to concede that he was enjoying himself, well at least up until the inevitable brush with oblivion and excruciatingly painful wounds left to heal afterwards. But there had been tequila enough for that. The good stuff in all.

So, he conceded with a sigh, no taking old Immanuel home then. There was nothing stopping him putting his feet up here and having a good read, though. Nothing, that is, but the whelp lumbering into the room with all the grace of a lowland gorilla the moment he’d settled comfortably onto the sofa and reverently cracked open the old volume.

“What are _you_ doing here?” Xander inquired.

“Rebuilding the engine of a 1951 Jaguar XKC,” Spike replied deadpanned without looking up then added, “What’s it bloody look like I’m doing?”

“I _mean_ , since you have a home of your own these days, I thought you’d be in it by now... with... Buffy. I saw the light on and thought Will might be in here. Wanted to see if she was up for grabbing a late dinner.”

“That would be no. Having an evening out with the Summers Women. Ladies’ night, which...”

“Explains Captain Peroxide’s Reading Rainbow. Got it. Well, I wouldn’t want to keep you from it so...”

As Xander turned to leave, something, hell if he knew what, compelled Spike to call out, “Harris, ever been to The Cambridge in Soho?”

* * * *

“Enjoying our steak and ale pie, are we?” Spike inquired then popped an onion ring into his mouth from the large plate he’d ordered. Xander’s only response was an enthusiastic nod as he continued to demolish the aforementioned pie. Finally taking a break between mouthfuls he observed, “As much as it pains me to admit that you’re right about something, this place is pretty great.”

“Good enough for the Sex Pistols, good enough for the likes of us.”

“Hrhm?” Xander inquired around a mouthful of chip deep fried to golden brown perfection.

“Was their local back in the day. Would squat near here, get by picking pockets... Steve Jones would sometimes nick instruments from music shops just up the way on Denmark Street, sell for dosh. Don’t think you’ll find many hungry artists in this postcode now, whole bleeding town’s gone high end. Even the East End’s going to the dogs.”

After a generous swig of English Pale Ale Xander’s expression turned thoughtful and he observed, “Gotta admit, it’s surreal, sitting here in a pub with you, listening to you talk about the history of the place like...”

“A man? Yeah, get it,” Spike interrupted, rolling his eyes, then went on, “Pure evil undead to you but, here’s the thing, having you and Red around makes her happy. See in her eyes what the last 24 hours with the old gang here means to her. Loves you lot with all she is because that’s what she does, yeah? Her heart, innit, what makes her best of her kind’s ever lived.

And let’s be clear, no one is more surprised than yours truly that she also wants me, and not claiming any right to her future because well aware I don’t have _any right_ to the next five bloody minutes. But for now, keeping company with me makes her happy, so powerless I am to deny her, powerless because when I look into her eyes and see that light it’s the closest thing I’ll ever come again to standing in the sunshine.

Only just realized why I’m buying you ale and pie in the nearest thing I have to a church. Know what my family’s done to them you cared about and can’t do a sodding thing to change that, know what I did to complicate things with the woman you loved and can’t undo that either. Only thing I can do is my absolute best to make Buffy Anne Summers smile, be what she needs, dust for her and hers if it comes to it.

Not asking for your friendship or your respect. Just asking that you not work at cross purposes is all, not give her a hard time about it. Not for my sake. I can take it. Had done for years when I couldn’t even defend myself, you know it. But for her.”

Xander dropped his head, his lips twitching, which pissed Spike off. Had the whelp forgotten that he was no longer on a leash? That he could kick his ass right proper if he chose, which of course he wouldn’t do because Buffy would tear him a new asshole if he did, but that was beside the point. It was _his choice now_. Besides, he’d just shelled out for steak and ale pie and fine cask ale and, really, people had _the worst_ sodding manners these days.

“Something I say amuse you, Harris?”

“Just that you’ve _already_ dusted for her and hers and doing it again would just be showing off. And if you had _let me_ before launching into your little speech, I would have _finished my thought_ that it was surreal sitting here and talking like it never happened, like you hadn’t gone all annoyingly heroic and saved the world.”

_Okay... wasn’t expecting that._

Xander took another sip of his ale then paused and said, “When I knew you were back... not _here_ but when we all found out you were, you know, _back_ , I figured I’d have to cop to this sooner rather than later but then the years ticked by and I thought maybe I had gotten it wrong. Again. But I should have known... Buffy and her vampires... and here we are so here I go.

That year, when we all thought you were gone for good, her grief wasn’t _loud_ like yours had been... that summer. It was quiet, so quiet that if I didn’t know her so well, or maybe if I wasn’t dealing with... loss myself, I might not have noticed. But I did notice, and it was real, and it was _deep._ And it wasn’t like I didn’t have anything to compare it to... the Angel/Angelus/Angel fiasco, her mom. But it was _different._

She wasn’t a teenager mourning her first love. She was a woman mourning her _partner._ That’s when I realized you’d become that to her by the end. Never would have seen it then, or at least not admitted it and least of all to myself, because I was _so not down_ with what the two of you had been up to the year before. But I’ve even revised my opinion on that or, at least, realize that I don’t have a right to one. Never did. Mostly, I prefer not to think about it. I wasn’t exactly at _my_ best that year and you know what they say about glass houses...”

“ _She_ loved you, you know, and... the thing I mentioned wishing I could undo but can’t... never, and I mean _never_ , would’ve happened if...”

“I know, and of all the things you did back in the day to piss me off, having rebound sex with my ex was probably one of the most human, way more _Jerry Springer_ than _Bram Stoker_. I understand that now as someone who spent a couple years making some _really questionable_ choices while traveling the world for the Council, some days hating myself for the way I’d blown it, others falling back into a pit of grief, and on the _really special days_ feeling _both things_ at once. Did a few things I _really regret_ so I get it. Not that I wouldn’t have _ended you_ back then if Buff hadn’t stopped me. Because I _really, really_ wanted to. Like I said, that wasn’t exactly a banner year for the old Xan-Man.”

With that, Xander fell silent as each contemplated his fine English cask ale. For what seemed about the trillionth time in recent weeks, Spike was gobsmacked. The toughest nut of all, one Alexander Harris, was not only accepting his olive branch but offering one of his own. _What a time to not be alive!_

“Well, bugger this!” Spike announced, adding, “Right pair we are. In one of the finest watering holes in all of Christendom and going on about our feelings like we’re on sodding _Oprah.”_

Xander blinked up at him with his good eye and shrugged then said, “Before we... change the subject, I do have one question, something that has haunted me for years because I apparently just _need to know_ in order to let it go and move on. Then we shall never speak of it again.” Spike raised his eyebrows inquiringly. “That time I came to your crypt... looking for... for Buffy when the trio of idiots made her invisible...”

_Oh, bloody hell!_

“And you were... she was there with you, wasn’t she? You were... when I...” He gulped.

“A gentleman never kisses and tells, Harris, you should know that.”

“Oh God, I knew it,” Xander groaned then grabbed his pint and drained what remained of it then grabbed the remains of Spike’s bitter and was draining that too when Spike inquired, “Another round?”

“And a shot, I don’t care of what,” Xander croaked.

“Right,” Spike agreed with a nod then hopped up to head to the bar and leave the sod to work through whatever steps he needed in order to move on.

* * * *

Buffy smiled wistfully as she gazed into the moonlit cemetery from the back of the taxi and imagined a younger version of herself stalking through it looking for monsters to kill. She smiled lopsidedly. She had a perfect wine buzz. When the taxi pulled up in front of Spike’s she leaned forward and cheerfully handed _all the money_ to the driver – but it still beat having to rush to catch the last train or resist the urge to pummel obnoxious drunks on the night bus – then hopped out of the cab and practically skipped up the path to the door, which was unlocked of course. Stepping inside as the cab drove off, she turned to scan the empty street before shutting and locking the door.

Spike was up, of course, because vampire. She found him in the living room, sprawled on the sofa with a journal open and a pen between his teeth, looking pensive and absolutely gorgeous in that way he did when something held his attention. She smiled.

“You are so fucking hot it’s just stupid,” Buffy offered.

He blinked up at her, eyebrows raised, and she could almost picture him sitting primly in a Victorian drawing room – her idea of a Victorian drawing room, anyway – and reacting to something scandalous or even vaguely impolite. The effect was adorable.

“Clean up pretty nicely yourself, Miss Summers. Pleasant evening?” he responded with his fancier accent as he set the journal and pen aside, and she could swear that sometimes he was reading her mind.

Crossing the room, she replied, “Yeah, it was great. We went to Giorgio in Leadenhall Market, gorged on Italian food, and drank too much wine. They treated us like royalty and our waiter was adorable.”

“Was he now?” Spike quirked an eyebrow as he pulled her down into his arms.

“Yeah, and they comped us several glasses of wine, plus Limoncello with dessert but they maybe do that for everyone,” she recounted as she settled comfortably into his arms as if this were something they had been doing for years, not days.

“Three tasty birds out together, no surprise there. Probably had him wrapped around your little finger, you did.”

“We kissed him on the way out, on each cheek, the way the Italians do. Then we went to a wine bar for the rest of the night. I must smell like a wino.”

“You smell delicious and taste...” He drew her into a lingering kiss then continued with a smile, “Like happiness.”

“I’m having a good week. My friends are here. My sister is thriving. _We’re_... good... no, better than good. I don’t like it,” she stated, furrowing her brow.

“Come again?” he said, raising his head slightly to look at her.

“The other shoe is due to drop any minute now and it’ll probably be like a big old chunky wooden clog or something. You don’t really think whoever has it out for you has let it go, do you?”

“No but let _me_ worry about that. You go right on ahead and enjoy your Scooby reunion, quality time with Nibblet, and my hot, tight little body. And not necessarily in that order,” he tacked on cheekily.

“Don’t mind if I do,” she replied with a wicked grin then kissed him.

* * * *

“Oh my God, they’re bonding,” Buffy observed as she watched Spike show off his iPhone 3G to Xander.

“I think it’s kind of sweet,” Willow replied.

“How do you even have this? It came out, like, last week. People are waiting in line to get them,” Xander inquired.

“This old thing? Had it for months. Company issue. Have the right connections, don’t I?”

“I need to get me a job with a shady, morally ambiguous law firm.”

“Only kind what exists, Son,” Spike remarked with a sniff then stuffed the phone back into his pocket.

“Now that we have concluded show and tell, there is the matter of the unfortunate motorists discovered this morning in a dumpster behind a lay-by on the M6 in Shropshire,” Giles announced as he entered the library.,

“Well, that doesn’t sound good,” Xander commented with a frown.

“Lemme guess, fatal neck wounds,” Spike added as he sat back in his chair and cast his eyes up at the ceiling.

“How many?” Buffy asked.

“Four, stacked like cord-wood,” Giles replied with a sigh then continued, “Coroner’s preliminary estimate for time of death of all four is close, between 11:00 p.m. and 1:00 a.m. I’ve dispatched a team of slayers to the Coroner's Office in Shrewsbury as a precaution even though I am fairly confident that they are deceased not...”

“They’re dead alright. Toss food waste into a dumpster, not family. Well, not usually, tempting as it may be at times,” Spike added.

“Right, well, having spent much of the afternoon at the Home Office, where it was made clear to me in no uncertain terms that the expectation is this will be _dealt with_ forthwith, I’m afraid it means working through the weekend and, perhaps, a visit to the scene of the attacks.”

“Won’t be necessary, Rupert. You know where them what did this were headed. Reckon they’ll be here soon enough if they aren’t already.”

“Yes, I had thought of that, but kept those sentiments to myself. Tensions were running high enough as it were, and I’d prefer to have some idea of what we’re dealing with rather than speculating when I’m speaking with the government.”

“Too right, wouldn’t want a bunch of panicked civil servants mucking up the works,” Spike concurred with a wry smile.

“So, takeout for dinner it is,” Xander declared brightly then inquired, “Any requests?”

“Indian!” Willow chirped.

“Fine with me,” Buffy added with a shrug.

“Could do with a Vindaloo, extra spicy,” Spike chimed in.

“Remember, there’s still some of your regular diet in one of the fridges in the kitchen. You’ll probably want to finish it before it gets too old,” Buffy reminded him.

“Ta, love.”

“What’s the name of that place, Will, the place we like?” Xander asked as he pulled his phone from his pocket.

“Tandoor... something?”

“Bloody narrows it down,” Spike observed amusedly. Willow shrugged.

"Using the corporate card for this one, Giles. Working dinner and all,” Xander announced.

“Very well,” Giles agreed with a sigh.

* * * *

Buffy was bored and remembered how little she had missed this part. Everyone else had something useful to do and none of it was her strong suit. Giles and Willow were alternating between making phone calls and consulting the files Giles had accumulated since the start of the recent spate of weirdness, Xander was stoked to be accessing a confidential Interpol database and even Spike was engaged sharing his experiential knowledge of the evil undead.

Just after 11, Buffy decided that the most helpful thing she could do was round up snacks so she headed to the kitchen to see what she could scrounge up. In the doorway, she looked back to see everyone huddled together working and smiled. Life was good. Well, except for the dead bodies piled in the dumpster. That was a definite signal of trouble ahead.

One thing she had learned years earlier, in that last year in Sunnydale, was that a group of young warriors was a lot like a plague of locust. They would eat everything in sight leaving utter devastation in their wake. Therefore, she was pleasantly surprised to find not only a large bunch of seedless grapes in the fridge, but also an unopened package of chocolate McVities in the pantry.

She was debating whether to brew coffee, tea or both when she heard the front door burst open and several voices shouting at once. Her heart sank as she rushed to see what was up. It sank even further when she reached the front hallway and saw Vi crouching over a bleeding Rose, with Dara and Lucy flanking an ashen Kate. All three were bloodied although much of it appeared to be Rose’s rather than their own.

“What the devil?!?” Giles exclaimed when he appeared in the library doorway on the opposite end of the hall then joined Vi and the other slayers in the hallway with Xander and WIllow hot on his heels.

“It was a coordinated attack,” Lucy stated.

“If we hadn’t turned up...” Dara added wanly.

“There are more out there. Had to throw Rosie over my shoulder in a fireman’s carry and run to get back here,” Lucy added.

“We need to assess her wounds. Under the circumstances, until we know what’s out there, it will be safer to treat her here than call an ambulance. Willow, we may very well need your special assistance,” Giles advised.

“Got it,” Willow replied resolutely.

“It was so fast... I...” Kate murmured.

She still looked so peaked that Buffy thought she might faint, so she moved around the group tending to the injured slayer on the floor and pressed a steadying hand to her back.

“C’mon, you three,” Buffy prodded gently. “Let’s go into the kitchen and have a seat and get you cleaned up a little. Then you can tell me what happened. Rose is in good hands.” 

As she was leading the slayers towards the kitchen, Buffy looked back to see Spike standing in the library doorway, his jaw ticking with anger. Their eyes met knowingly, a message passing silently between them.

_Fun’s over._

**TBC**


	17. If I remember the night that we met

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter titled from the song "Small."

“Oh my God, will you _just die_ already?!?” Buffy growled as she finally staked the irritatingly persistent vampire then turned just in time to see Spike wrench the head clean off the vampire he’d engaged. She gulped because he was objectively terrifying in a fight, particularly when angry, then silently thanked whatever deity happened to be listening that he was there and fighting by her side.

After getting the lowdown on the ambush from Dara and Lucy (Kate hadn’t been much help), Buffy, Spike, Vi and the three most experienced slayers based at HQ had fanned out into the night to confront the attackers, which had initially numbered roughly a dozen but had been whittled down to two by the time she and Spike had maneuvered them into an alley to finish them off.

“I think that’s it,” Buffy stated breathlessly because, damn, wherever these vampires were coming from they were a cut above anything she had encountered since Sunnydale. Spike did not reply as he stood, game-faced and wary, amber eyes searching the half-lit alley. “Spike? Is something...?”

He held up a hand to silence her, his nostrils flaring just as the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end in that way that signaled both _danger_ and _power_. She turned to follow his upward gaze to a vampire standing high on the roof of one of the buildings bounding the alley.

“Quite extraordinary,” the vampire stated as Buffy instinctively took a step back to stand next to Spike.

“Hearing about it is one thing, but _seeing_ it with my own cold, dead eyes... the infamous Spike, Slayer of Slayers, fighting alongside slayers to kill his own kind is... well, obscene is what it is, an abomination.”

“You know him?” Buffy muttered to the vampire beside her but of course the vampire on the rooftop heard her too and replied, “Know me? He _made_ me. Didn’t you, _Sire._ ”

_What?!?!_

Buffy spun on Spike just in time to catch a flash of motion in her peripheral vision and dove forward, sending them both to the ground, a missile of some sort – if she had to guess, a wooden arrow from a crossbow – whizzing just over her head.

“Evan, we talked about this,” she heard the mystery vampire chide with a heavy sigh then the sound of retreating footsteps and silence.

She looked up, scanning the area, her eyes confirming what her slayer senses were telling her. They were gone. Scrabbling into a seated position astride him, Buffy grabbed Spike by the lapels of his duster and dragged him upright to face her then demanded, “Sire?!?!” His only reply was utter game-faced shock. She huffed in frustration, letting go of his coat. He sank back onto his elbows and shook off the demon but not the bewilderment.

“Egads, you two, can’t it wait until you get home?!?!”

They turned to find Xander standing at the end of the alley, a battle axe hanging limply at his right side. Spike blinked annoyance at him. Buffy cast her eyes heavenward.

* * * *

“Did he just _slip your mind_?”

They were back in the library with Xander and Giles. She was pacing. Things had been going so well – too well – for weeks that she’d been wondering when the other shoe would drop and, bam, it was now raining Jimmy Choos.

“Was before your mother was born, Buffy, and didn’t slip my mind. Thought he was dust for decades.”

Spike was in his usual position, leaning against a bookcase, but his manner was not his usual relaxed or bored. He was tense. Preoccupied.

“I do not recall ever reading about a powerful male vampire associated with Spike. Aside from Angelus, of course,” Giles commented.

“It was during the Blitz so...” Spike stated with a shrug.

2-1/2 sets of eyes fell upon him, making him fidget before he continued, “Bit chaotic in these parts then with Jerry paying nightly visits.”

“Jerry... who?” Buffy inquired.

“Old nickname for the Germans,” Giles explained adding, “Not complimentary.”

“I knew that! History Channel or... Dr. Who?” Xander chimed in then all eyes were on Spike again.

  
“Thing about modern warfare, turned what used to be the best of times for vampires into a sodding nightmare. Town was burning in late ‘40, fire literally falling from the sky, and vampires burn.” He paused a moment, a faraway look in his eyes.

“Dru was in a state, hated the air raids. The noise terrified her. Always was fragile, was Dru, and the war was Hell on Earth for her, for us both. Couldn’t go out in the day, obviously, but couldn’t go out at night either because that’s when the city burned. The imperative for vampires is to stay _out_ of Hell but here we were, evil soulless creatures, stuck in a Hell what humans created by and for themselves.

So, had to get her out of here, didn’t I, fuck away from this self-destructive burning continent but, you know, world war and all so took a little doing. Meantime could’ve ended up in the dustbin any time when I needed to be out and about to get... _provisions..._ and worried that she wouldn’t be able to cope on her own. Got so desperate I considered trying to contact Angel but knew he’d be bloody useless so....”

“He was your insurance policy,” Buffy interjected matter-of-factly. “You sired him for Dru, to take care of her if anything happened to you.”

“Give the girl a prize.”

Spoken without his usual aplomb. He was genuinely rattled by his encounter with the vampire he’d sired a human lifetime ago and that filled Buffy with anxiety and dread. “Who is... was he? Before?” she asked.

  
“Ambulance driver. London born and bred of... well, bugger me, Welsh parents. Morgan was the name. Tom Morgan. Joined up and was waiting to be called into service. Doing his bit in the meantime.” Spike’s tone was admiring.

“Been looking for a while when Dru spotted him, fancied him. Followed him to see where he lived then, few nights later, passed the evening with him at a pub first to get a sense of who I was dealing with. Wartime makes people chatty with strangers, desperate to connect.

His parents were gone by then, no other close family to speak of... made things less... _complicated._ Talked about a few mates in the ambulance service but a man on his own in, what, second largest city in the world at the time in the throes of nightly chaos compliments of the Luftwaffe, he’d go missing wasn’t likely anyone would have the time or inclination to look too hard. Besides, seemed a solid bloke, loyal and steadfast. Serving his country at home while he waited his turn to serve abroad.”

To Giles’s chuff of surprise, Spike challenged, “Think a vampire’s beneath love of country, Rupert? There would be no Spike if there hadn’t been a William, and William was an Englishman. Besides, Nazis had a thing for vampires. Had plans for us, didn’t they? Sodding Initiative didn’t invent it, had shinier toys is all.”

“I had read that,” Giles agreed.

“Yeah, well I didn’t have to. Lived it... almost... but that’s another story. Didn’t care for their ideology either. Faulty. Far as I was concerned, all humans tasted like chicken, but they were blowing up beautiful cities and killing more people than we ever would or could because a bunch of wankers decided they were the ‘Master Race.’ Bloody stupid it was. Still is.” Giles’s lips quirked at Spike’s simple if spot on take, as did Xander’s.

“So, what happened? How did you... lose track of him?” Buffy inquired.

“What was afraid would happen. Or so I thought anyway. Within a fortnight, building where we’d taken up residence burned to the ground with warmest regards from Der Fuehrer. Barely got me and Dru out. Helluva night that was, December 29th, 1940.”

“Dear God,” Giles interjected, adding for the benefit of Buffy and Xander, “That night came to be known as the ‘Second Great Fire of London,’ worst night of bombing of the war. Ghastly business.”

“One in the same. By the end of it, Dru was practically catatonic and, after that, retreated to the sewers, got by surviving like rats _and on them_ , until I heard tell of a merchant vessel bound for Mexico. Far as we knew, Morgan was ashes.”

“Only he wasn’t,” Buffy stated solemnly.

Dropping his gaze in the general direction of his boots, Spike frowned and muttered, “No, he wasn’t and we left him behind... in Hell.”

* * * *

Buffy awoke with a start, momentarily disoriented until she realized where she was, on the sofa in the library, where she must have drifted off. She was alone. Giles and Xander had probably gone to get some shuteye, Xander in the guest room he used while in town and Giles in his private quarters adjacent to the library that he hardly used anymore since purchasing his London flat. Which left...

_Spike!!!!_

Buffy bolted upright, a rush of panic coursing through her at the thought that he might have gone off alone into the pre-dawn to... well, she had no idea what because she had never seen him quite like this before. She had seen him angry, frightened, thoughtful, regretful, sad, and determined but never all at once, and she really had no idea what he was thinking because she hadn’t had the opportunity to be alone with him to ask. Hopping up she smoothed her hair and clothing then headed off to look for him while issuing a silent prayer to whatever deity was up at that hour that he was still safely within the confines of HQ.

She was relieved to find him sitting on the near side of Rose’s bed, his back to the doorway. Willow sat across from him reading a book. Looking up to meet Buffy’s eyes she offered a warm smile then stood up, stretched, and moved around the bed to meet Buffy in the doorway.

“How is she?” Buffy asked.

“Hanging in there like a trooper,” Will replied then squeezed past her and called back softly, “I’m feeling with the gunpowder chai. Big time. Want some?”

“No, thanks. Need me to relieve you so you can get some sleep?”

“Nah, Giles is taking over at 8:00 and I’m catching up on some reading anyhow.” She waved the book in her hand then added, “I’ll be back in two shakes.”

Buffy nodded then stepped into the room and approached Spike. He sat stock-still. More still than a living human would be capable of sitting, a conscious one anyway, but she knew he was awake. She squeezed his shoulder. He inhaled and asked, “Something wake you, pet?”

“Yeah, you weren’t there.”

He looked up at her with sad, adoring eyes and a tired, loving smile and if she hadn’t already known, this moment might have driven it home for her. She was in deep. She moved around the bed and took the seat Willow had vacated, keeping silent vigil with him.

Buffy studied Rose’s pale, sweet face and pondered the fact that, by all appearances, she could be any young woman in _the flower of youth_ and... okay, where had _that_ come from? Her vocabulary tended towards the less, well, flowery. Maybe Jolly Old England was rubbing off on her.

“ _In flow’r of youth and beauty’s pride._ Dryden.” Buffy’s head snapped up in surprise.

“Did I say that out loud?”

He smiled _that_ smile again, the one that felt like a caress, and replied, “Barely.”

“I think I’m getting punchy.”

“Need some kip.”

“On one condition,” she asserted, holding her lover’s gaze for a beat, then turned her attention back to the injured slayer until Willow returned with her chai in one hand and her book in the other.

“Here, Will, take your seat back,” Buffy offered then stood up. As they passed at the foot of the bed, she gently squeezed her dear friend’s arm and asked, “Will you be alright here on your own?”

“Sure, Rose is resting comfortably and should stay that way for the next few hours. You know how doctors sometimes place a seriously injured person in medically induced coma to facilitate the healing process? I’ve done something sort of similar to aid her inherent slayer healing abilities.”

“I’m so glad you’re here. I don’t know what we’d do without you,” Buffy stated.

“Second that,” Spike uttered without looking up. Buffy and Willow shared a fleeting smile then moved away from one another, the latter back to her seat, the former to collect the vampire she really needed to talk to. And maybe... probably hold. At least for a little while. Until it was time to face what the day would bring.

**TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This represents some of the earliest BtVS/Spuffy scenes I wrote (roughly two years ago) when I decided to write this couple (after years of swearing that I never would), because I was was pondering the fact that, per canon, Spike would have had very little opportunity to share with Buffy his experiences of a dozen-plus decades as a vampire, outside of what he would have been willing to share in "Fool for Love," when he was a lovesick, soulless, more manipulative vampire motivated to let her see only what served his goal of prompting her to act on the obvious chemistry between them. Then, after his ensoulment, he wouldn't have wanted to revisit his darker deeds. Also, I was taken with the idea of past deeds coming back to bite him on that cute little ass of his. And, while I roll my eyes at much of the, IMO, over-the-top nonsense of AtS S5, I don't half mind "Why We Fight" and have often thought about it in the years since it aired. I also firmly believe that even pre-soul, full-on evil Spike would find Nazis tiresome and stupid. Because they are... and shall always be.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title again from "Small."

“Please send our warmest regards to Ms. Rosenberg,” the proprietress called out as Buffy opened the door to exit the bookshop.

“Will do. I’m sure Willow will stop by before she leaves town after things... quiet down at the office. Thanks again.”

“We look forward to it. It is our pleasure to serve. Blessed be.”

Buffy nodded and smiled then stepped outside, squinting in the mid-afternoon sunlight. It had cleared up since she’d left HQ in the lunchtime drizzle to run errands, including picking up something for Willow at the long-established family run occult bookshop near the British Museum on her way back from her first stop, Dawn’s. At her urging, Dawn had asked Mick if he’d be willing to stay with his sister and her husband in suburban London for a few days so that she could accommodate house guests, the house guests being two slayers who would arrive before sunset and stay there with her until Tom Morgan and Associates were dealt with. It had the additional benefit of keeping Dawn’s roommate, a civilian, well away from any potential danger. Buffy had no idea how much of the reality of their lives Dawn had shared with one of her closest friends, but Mick understood well enough to shrug and not ask too many questions when her sister made such a request of him.

Buffy was relieved to have at least that much sorted out, profoundly grateful that Dawn hadn’t given her any argument. Long gone were the days when her little sister’s impulsiveness meant that Buffy spent a lot of time bailing her out of trouble. With reasonable precautions in place to safeguard Dawn's well-being, she hoped to alleviate a major concern Spike had voiced while wearing a groove in the floor of her room at HQ, where she had watched him pace like a caged animal after finally dragging him there just before sunrise.

* * * *

“Knew it,” Spike muttered through a tight jaw, shaking his head as he stalked around the room, unwilling or unable to keep still.

“Knew what?” Buffy asked carefully from where she sat at the foot of her bed, hoping that her calm demeanor would soothe him.

“Were being watched. Could sense it, just a twinge at the back of the neck. Would pass so thought it was the mind playing tricks. Should’ve taken it more seriously but was too busy having the time of my bloody life.”

_Oh, HELL NO you don’t! You WILL NOT regret this!_

“Spike, look at me.” He did and momentarily stopped pacing.

“First, who knows how long _any of us_ were being watched? HQ _had to be_ a surveillance target no matter what. I’ve had a similar feeling a few times over the past few weeks but, like you, it passed so quickly that I shrugged it off. Second, if _I_ could find you as quickly as I did...” She shrugged, and with a tired smile continued, “You don’t exactly slip in under the radar. You never did. Spike blows into town; everybody knows about it.”

“Didn’t have to tip my hand there are people I treasure more than my own existence. People he could...”

“What? Are you saying you’re afraid that I can’t take care of myself?”

“No,” he replied on a sigh, casting his eyes heavenward then added, “But Nibblet...”

“Is safely locked in her apartment with her roommate with no intention of going anywhere before the sun comes up. I called her before we went out. This isn’t her first rodeo, Spike. She is hardly defenseless. She is experienced, smart and resourceful. For crying out loud, she survived a hell god...”

Buffy clamped her lips tightly shut. Spike’s glare was so piercing that she was surprised she didn’t freeze over like that poor museum security guard did that time. He resumed pacing. She mentally bitch slapped herself then asserted, “Tom Morgan is no hell god. I don’t care how pissed off at you he is or why.”

“People have already been hurt because of me.”

“And Rose was hurt tonight because she was called as a slayer. If I hadn’t made that decision five years ago... Think that hasn’t crossed my mind?”

He stopped and shot her another withering glare then argued, “Don’t. You. Dare. Not the same and you bloody well know it.”

She held his glare defiantly then shot back, “You want a guilt-fest, I’ll have a gay old time of it. You want to stop Tom Morgan... you need to drag your sweet ass over here so we can get some sleep. I need to be able to think tomorrow... today... later.”

Spike narrowed his eyes at her, but his entire demeanor softened as he remarked, “You _did not_ just toss that evil berk’s words back at me.”

Folding her arms at her chest she replied, “Hell yeah. We go back _forever,_ Spike, and that _evil berk_ never shut up. Now, please...”

Buffy dropped her arms and leaned forward to remove her boots and socks before scooting back onto the bed then waited. Shaking his head with a half-smile of surrender, he approached the bed and sat at the edge of it to remove his own footwear then reached over to switch off the light on the bedside table before swinging his legs up and sinking into her waiting arms.

“Sun’s almost up,” he observed with a heavy sigh.

Curling around him like a warm cocoon, she pressed her lips to his temple then whispered, “I’m not going to say that I know exactly what you’re feeling right now because... how could I? It’s... a lot, I know. But please... please don’t regret this... us. I don’t. I won’t. Ever. I... we need to be able to... to have this without... regretting.”

Clutching her tighter, he choked out, “Oh, love, never... got plenty to regret... more than a century’s worth. Loving you... never. Never... never... never... never... never... never...” he repeated between kisses to her forehead, eyelids, nose, and cheeks then drew her into a languorous, drugging kiss.

As first light bled faintly through the closed window blinds, they allowed themselves to be carried away on that kiss, unhurried as they shed their clothing while barely breaking contact. They came together slowly, tenderly as if rocking on a calm, gentle sea amid soft gasps and quiet pleas. Then they drifted off together, stealing a few moments of peace before they would have to face the storm raging out there somewhere.

* * * *

Buffy sighed wistfully at the memory of their early-morning lovemaking. It had been sweet and sad and so tender that it made her ache to think about it. She had awakened before him after only a few hours’ sleep, the first time that had happened in... _a long time_ and just watched him, still and peaceful and so handsome that it was almost... _otherworldly._ Another vampire had the name and was himself roughly a 220 on a scale of 1 to 10, but Spike was actually the more _angelic_ of the two. Her beautiful angel of darkness and light. With a complicated past. That had now come back to bite him on his delectable ass.

She sighed then picked up the pace towards her final stop, the butcher shop near Smithfield Market to pick up several containers of fresh blood. Just before closing on the days she called ahead, per the special arrangement she had charmed the initially wary proprietor into on her visit the morning after the attack on Viv. How could that have been only a matter of _weeks_ ago when it felt like _so much longer?_

It was a warm day, so she planned to hail a cab back to HQ to keep the blood as fresh as possible. She had also picked up some burba weed at the occult bookshop to surprise him with. And wasn’t she being the perfect little domestic goddess for her vampire, she mused with a smirk that quickly faded when her slayer senses signaled high alert. She stopped dead in her tracks to concentrate on what her body was telling her.

“Well, my, my, my, if it isn’t Daddy’s lady-friend.”

With a skyward glance, she pondered why vampires were so into playing out these little scenes. Whether emerging from the shadows to warn her. Or threaten her life. Or whatever the hell this dude had in mind, which she had no doubt seen and heard before. Fashioning her expression into well-practiced nonchalance, she slowly turned to find an attractive male figure (because of course) leaning casually in the doorway of what appeared to be a permanently shuttered business, the awning hanging over the entrance protecting him from the sun.

“You stink of him,” Tom Morgan observed, wrinkling his nose in contempt.

“Must be all the sex we’re having,” she replied with a shrug. He smirked and it was unnervingly evocative of another smirk she knew so well; her stomach soured.

“Well, this really _is_ an unexpected pleasure.”

“Know what would make it even better?” Buffy gazed up at the sunny sky then back at him, raising her eyebrows. He smiled amusedly. She continued, “I assume you have something to say to me? Otherwise, why risk ending up on the wrong end of a Dustbuster?”

“Both know I’m risking no such thing. Following me into this building would be stupid and you didn’t reach your advanced age being stupid.”

_Advanced age? I’m SO going to enjoy staking you._

“Well, whatever it is, go ahead and get it off your chest... while you still have one. I have places to be."

“Can see what he sees in you. Remind me of the tough, no-nonsense birds I met during the war. Didn’t have the opportunity to get acquainted last night, did we? Call me old fashioned but suppose I wanted to meet the wicked step mum what led my daddy astray.” Buffy folded her arms at her chest, the shopping bag full of herbs and crystals swinging from her arm as she did and rolled her eyes.

“’Course the old man always did let his tallywacker do his thinking for him. Wouldn’t be standing here otherwise, would I?” Buffy had never heard the word _tallywacker_ before, but she didn’t need a dictionary to figure out what it meant.

“It was _love,_ not his _tallywacker,_ that made him do what he did. It was wrong in _all the ways,_ and I am sorry for the man you used to be, but I’m not going to let you hurt him or anyone else I love.”

“Sweet words considering he was keeping company with another bird, what, fortnight or two ago?”

“Yeah, well, that didn’t end well for Team Morgan, did it?”

“Poor, sweet Sally, always was keen to impress me but got the wrong end of the stick, didn’t she? Should have just done as she was told – watched and waited – but after all this time program’s still not foolproof. Suppose that’s on me, though. Should have told her from the start that, that one wasn’t worth the bother, that she was just a side show.” He shrugged.

" _She_ is _not_ a sideshow, she is the _badass woman_ who sent _poor, sweet Sally_ to Hell,” Buffy asserted.

  
“How very... _contemporary_ of you.”

“That’s me, just a modern girl living in the modern world. Not that it hasn’t been fun, but I really should be...”

“Butcher’s closing soon, I reckon. Pathetic. Don’t know whether to laugh or cry. Has got living birds hanging off him, a slayer in all, consigns himself to butcher’s swill. Ah, well...” Tom tacked on with a sigh, “Suppose you can take the man out of the Victorian but not the Victorian out of the monster.”

“He’s _not_ a monster.” Not anymore. Not ever, exactly... entirely. He was _always_ something _more._

“How utterly charming and predictably human. Suppose that’s what you tell yourself when you’re letting him...” He cleared his throat and went on, “Well, Miss Summers, wouldn’t want William to miss a meal on my account. So, I’ll bid you farewell... for now. It truly has been my pleasure.” With that, he retreated into the darkness of the building.

“Asshole,” Buffy muttered then backed down the sidewalk until she hit the end of the block then practically sprinted the rest of the way to the butcher shop.

* * * *

“I talked to _him_ today,” Buffy confided when she and Willow were alone in the kitchen putting away the items she had picked up.

“Him?” Willow replied, as she reached into the cupboard reserved for her supplies for a jar to refill.

“ _Him.”_

The witch turned around and inquired, “You mean...”

“Yup.”

“How? Where?”

“On one of the little side streets, more of an alley really, near the market. There was an empty storefront and, suddenly, there he was in the doorway.”

“What is he like? I mean, besides the whole evil undead thing.”

“Clever. Handsome. I can see why Dru picked him. He’s totally her type. Charming in an obnoxious sort of way. Lean and well-built. Light eyes, blue probably, nice lips. Dark blond hair... or maybe it’s more of a light brown... What?” Buffy added in response to her friend’s upraised eyebrows then assured, “Don’t worry, Will, I’m _totally_ dusting this one before I fall in love with him.”

They shared a knowing look for a beat then laughed, each almost gaining her composure a few times only to be overtaken by another fit of giggles and, man, it felt good to release some of the tension. As she wiped tears from her eyes, something occurred to Buffy.

“Wait, he did say something I made a mental note of. He was talking about the vampire Viv staked, how she should have done as she was told but that the _program wasn’t foolproof... after all this time.”_

“Program?”

“Yeah, something that’s been around a while. Whatever it is, it probably explains the above-average vampires.”

“Then there has to be a record of it somewhere. We just have to turn over the right stone. I’ll tell Giles when I hit the library again.”

“Yeah, and I need to tell Spike, which I’m _so not_ looking forward to. Has he emerged from my room yet?”

“He was in the training room for a while earlier, using the punching bag until it came loose from the ceiling. Well, part of the ceiling came loose actually. Xander is in there now fixing it. I think he’s spent most of the day on the phone. You know with...”

“The only other person in the world who could possibly know how he feels.”

“Hey, what’s with the Barry Manilow ringtone?”

Sighing, Buffy shook her head and replied, “I have no idea.”

* * * *

Spike was sitting up in bed, propped against the headboard and staring thoughtfully at the phone in his hands, when Buffy entered her room with a warm mug of fresh blood. He looked up at her and she could see that his eyes were red-rimmed. Which made her dread telling him about her encounter even more, so she opened with encouraging news.

"Everything is set at Dawn’s. Gemma and Nilou will be heading over there soon and they won’t leave her side until this is over.”

“Agreed just like that, did she?”

“Yeah, probably because she knows it’s important to you. If I’d have asked her to do it for me, she probably would have told me to eat shit and die.” He smiled a half smile then his eyes dropped to his hands again. “I brought you dinner,” she offered as she held the mug out to him. He absently took it from her then sniffed and met her eyes,

“What’s this then?”

“I picked up some burba weed when I was running an errand for Willow.”

“You spoil me.”

“I love you,” she stated with a shrug then commanded, “Now drink up before it gets cold.”

He shook his head then took a sip, humming contentedly as he leaned back against the headboard, his eyes slipping closed. She sat down on the edge of the bed and, as she watched him drain the mug, Tom Morgan’s words echoed back to her about Spike consigning himself to butcher swill. He had never tried to... not even once when they... when she might have let him... or had at least been _too preoccupied_ to stop him... from at least _trying_... it wasn’t like she hadn’t thought about it... back then... in her darker moments... and maybe even more recently... once or twice... what it might be like... to have him... to let him have her... like that.

“Penny for your thoughts, pet,” he said when he’d finished his meal.

_Um, no._

Buffy took the mug from him and set it on the bedside table then advised, “I have something to tell you, but you have to promise me that you won’t freak out.”

“Love, surest way to make someone freak out is to tell them not...”

She held up a hand and interrupted, “Yeah, I know, just listen, okay?” He rolled his eyes then nodded. “On the way to the market, I passed an empty building and...” She swallowed hard and continued, “And Tom Morgan was there.” Spike sat up straight and was about to say something when she held up her hand again.

“He wasn’t there to do me any harm, not today anyway. He just wanted to size me up, and I think he wanted to give me the chance to do the same. And, Christ, does that sound familiar,” she added with a shake of her head.

“And?”

“You mean, aside from the fact that you could be brothers or cousins or something?”

“Noticed that, did you?”

“Let’s just say it’s fairly obvious that Dru has a type, or at least used to, coat racks notwithstanding.”

“What did he say?” Spike asked on a sigh, his head dropping back against the headboard.

“A lot of posturing B.S. because, ya know, vampire, but I did get him to confirm that the vamp who attacked Viv was one of his and, in the process, he mentioned a _program._ Something _established,”_ she added pointedly.

“Like a _vampire training program?_ Bloody daft idea. Vampires give sod all about order. Rules. Discipline. Know the man was fixing to be a soldier when we met but after... Our time together may have been short, but he was no different, I assure you.”

“Maybe, but it sure would explain a lot. And...”

_Oh my God, I can’t believe I didn’t think of it sooner..._

“What if whoever established this _program_ cares about order because he... she... whatever _wasn’t a vampire_?”

Spike’s eyes widened in comprehension and he declared, “Bloody hell! I have a phone call to make.”

Buffy leaned in to give him a quick peck on the lips then stood and said, “Come down to the library when you’re done.”

Spike had the phone to his hear when she looked over her shoulder in the doorway. Meeting her eyes, he smiled the widest, most genuine smile she’d seen on him in 24 hours and stated, “Bloody brilliant you are. That’s my girl.”

“I am, you know.”

“You are?”

“Well, bloody brilliant _and_ your girl,” she replied cheekily then left him to his phone call.

**TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The occult bookshop Buffy visits is based on The Atlantis Bookshop at 49A Museum Street, Holborn, London, which is family-owned and has been in business for nearly a century.
> 
> When I conceived the character of Tom Morgan, I was picturing the British actor (and IMO hottie), Rupert Penry-Jones.


	19. Who you are now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Small," a song which mood-wise informs a lot of this part of the story.
> 
> Buffy also tosses more of Spike's own (canon) words back at him in this one, from "As You Were." In my head canon, I think they each remember virtually every word they exchanged because their wordplay (foreplay;-) was epic.

The room fell silent after Giles recounted his conversation with a retired survivor of the original Council, whom he had visited that morning. If any written records of the affair had been retained by the Council, they were now history thanks to Caleb. Nevertheless, the elderly man was still sharp as a tack and had been able to verify from memory some of the information Spike had extracted from deep within the files of W&H Europe with the technical and moral support of Angel and Gunn back in L.A.

Buffy glanced over at Spike perched on the arm at the far end of the sofa. His gaze was affixed to his boots, expression inscrutable. She frowned, longing for this to be over but, of course, it wasn’t. Over the past couple days, they had unearthed key insights into the almost-70-year history of Tom Morgan, but they still had no idea what his endgame was or even _where_ he was. The team sent to the building where Buffy had encountered him near Smithfield Market had, unsurprisingly, found no sign of him or any other creature living, dead or both.

“Right,” Giles announced, standing up behind his desk and reaching for the sport coat hanging on the back of his chair.

“What?” Buffy inquired, turning her attention to him.

“I’m off to the Home Office and this time I shall be the one demanding answers,” he replied determinedly as he pulled on his jacket then straightened his collar and cuffs.

“Go get ‘em, Rupert, make ‘em rattle their teacups,” Spike remarked but his words lacked the usual snark.

"I will likely be tied up for some time, the remainder of the afternoon I suspect, but I’ll check in as soon as I’m finished,” Giles said as he strode towards the door.

“We’ve got it under control here,” Buffy assured.

“I know you do,” he replied and was gone.

"Well... I could use a coffee, a large one, or maybe a drink,” Xander announced breaking the silence that followed in Giles’s wake.

“I could do lunch,” Willow stated with a shrug.

Spike stood up and wordlessly left the room, digging his phone from the pocket of his jeans as he went. Buffy tracked his movements, staring forlornly into the empty doorway before turning back to her friends and commenting, “You know, it would be the _perfect_ end to this whole saga if _Spike and Angel_ walked off into the sunset together. Well, not the _literal_ sunset, obviously.”

“I think it’s kind of... _nice_ that they are friends now,” Willow offered.

“Yeah, set aside the whole major nightmare of my youth aspect of it, and you have to figure that the two of them hanging out together has probably been good for them both,” Xander observed, adding, “It’s gotta help having someone to talk to who, ya know, understands. He’s going through something right now _way outside_ of our wheelhouse, so I’d try not to take it personally. Even I have to admit it, Buff, Captain Peroxide is the real deal.”

“You’re only saying that because you went out drinking together... and he was buying,” Buffy joked to try to lighten the mood. Her mood, specifically.

"And steak and ale pie! Don’t forget the steak and ale pie. I wouldn’t want it to get around that Xander Harris is a cheap date. Or easy.”

“You wouldn’t?” Willow teased.

“Good point. Spread that far and wide,” Xander responded, outstretching his arms for emphasis.

“Thank you, guys,” Buffy offered sincerely.

“For?” Xander asked.

“For... letting him in.”

“We kind of did that a long time ago,” Willow pointed out.

“This is different.”

“Yeah, I suppose it is. But so are we,” Xander stated with a shrug then outstretched his arms again and invited, “Come here, you two.”

Buffy and Willow stepped into them for an old-school Scooby hug. Buffy smiled against Xander’s chest, while drinking in the scent of Willow’s hair. Lavender. Over a decade of shared history behind them, they had each been through so much, lost so much, and yet here they were. Survivors. These were _her_ _people;_ she loved and appreciated them more with every passing year. She allowed herself a few more moments in the familiar, loving cocoon of her best friends’ arms before pulling back and advising, “Nothing really going on here right now. You guys might as well go out and get lunch.”

With a nod Xander asked, “Want us to bring something back for you?”

“That would be super,” she replied then headed towards the door. Turning back in the doorway she smiled and reiterated, “Thanks again, guys.”

* * * *

Buffy found Spike alone in the training room, arranging the free weights from lightest to heaviest on the wall rack. She silently approached to stand beside him, turned to lean back against the rack, folded her arms at her chest, and did what she felt like she was spending most of her time doing lately while in his company. She waited.

“Sprogs are bleeding chaos, they are,” he lamented when he finally broke the silence, adding, “Even as an evil sod, knew enough to keep things neat and tidy.”

“Kids today,” she joked with an exaggerated sigh.

“Know what you’re thinking,” he said as he put the last weight in its proper place then turned around so that his position mirrored hers.

“If you do then... _I’m not the only one thinking it_ ,” she shot back with a sidelong, knowing glance.

“Ever gonna cut that bloody out?”

“Probably not,” she chirped with a shrug.

“I am _not_ brooding. Thinking is all.”

“Okay... I get that. But seeing as I’m here in the same room with you, I’d love _to hear_ some of those thoughts. Any of them, really. I’m not picky.”

“Well, for a start, grateful for Council hospitality last coupla nights, but I’m going home tonight.”

“Spike...”

“House was undisturbed; Red’s reinforced the protection spell. Besides, if Morgan’s game was to come at me there, could’ve done weeks ago. Reckon doesn’t much matter where I kip, when he’s ready to show his hand he will.”

Buffy really couldn’t argue with that so instead she asserted, “Fine. I’m coming with.”

“Who says you’re invited?”

She shot him a look that read _as if_. He held her gaze defiantly for a beat then rolled his eyes and huffed, “Fine.”

“Uh, yeah, fine,” she scoffed then dropped her arms to her sides.

When she felt him take her hand in his, his fingers entwining with hers, she couldn’t help but smile. As long as he didn’t pull away from her, shut her out, it would be okay. Because it had to be. She wouldn’t accept anything else.

* * * *

The afternoon drew to a close with Giles calling in to say that they should reconvene the following morning. For the third consecutive night, HQ would follow the enhanced patrol and perimeter-security protocol put in place the day after the attack on the slayers. Buffy and Spike left HQ before sunset, making use of the Council car with the vamp-friendly windows, and timing their departure so that the sun was low enough in the sky by the time they reached Fulham to prevent an unseemly smoke situation.

Spike trudged up the stairs. Buffy closed and locked the door, checking it twice before following him. After hanging up his duster, he made a beeline for his room while she headed for the kitchen to see if there was anything in the fridge or cupboards to scrounge up for dinner. She’d been out on Thursday night and they had left early for HQ on Friday morning, so she had no idea what she’d find. She was pleasantly surprised to discover the fridge fully stocked with items for both Spike and her and called out, “Hey, who stocked the fridge?” She didn’t think Will and the team of slayers who’d accompanied her over there that morning had been gone long enough to do shopping and see to the protection spell.

He popped his head out of the bedroom and replied, “Mike. Called him and asked if he’d mind running a few things over once I knew the place was still standing and didn’t have squatters waiting to kill me,” then disappeared again.

Buffy called Dawn to check in with her and tell her where she was. There would be no shutting out the world tonight. Both of their phones were fully charged and on and would remain so. Hanging up, she heard the shower go on. And immediately abandoned the idea of dinner. She began peeling off her clothing before she even reached the bedroom and was fully undressed when she opened the bathroom door. Stepping into the steamy room, she slid the shower curtain aside to find Spike doing that deadly still thing as he stood directly under the spray, head down, arms bracing the wall.

“Just trying to clear my head,” he said after a long moment.

“I think I can help with that."

He turned his head to look at her, water sluicing down his face, and replied, “Do you now?”

* * * *

Buffy’s mind-clearing techniques had done the trick, she mused as she sat at the foot of the bed towel drying her hair. Spike was talking, finally. More like babbling about _history bloody repeating itself... nothing ever bloody changes... vampire wankers thinking they’re so bloody tough but never stand a bloody chance against human power and corruption._ Eventually he paused long enough for her to jump in.

“You're _nothing_ like him, you know. Okay, _something kind of similar_ happened to you but...”

“I had you,” Spike interrupted.

She stopped what she was doing, furrowed her brow, looked up at him where he had stopped pacing and challenged, “You _so_ did _not_. Not _then_.”

“Way I recall it, came to you starving and desperate, low-hanging fruit for any nasty bit of work looking to pick off the legendary Slayer of Slayers, and you took me in.”

“ _Legendary?_ Really? And you could defend yourself against demons.”

“Didn’t know that then, did I?”

“Well, no, but...”

“Was totally at their mercy, them what pulled him from that burning building and… he wasn’t… even… supposed to be… S’pose I did the bloody Crown a favor though, siring him to snatch up instead of yours truly. Better man in life. Better vampire. For their purposes, any rate.”

“Don’t you even,” Buffy challenged.

“What?”

“I was over having _this_ argument in Sunnydale and that was _before_ you closed the Hellmouth. There has _never_ been a vampire like you, Spike. The Council thought so too, or they never would have approached the government with that… _proposal_.”

“Bloody wankers. Bloody cock-up. Whole sodding mess.”

“Pretty much situation normal for the old Council,” Buffy remarked with a shrug then asserted, “But we’ll clean it up. Because…”

She reached out and grabbed the hem of the towel encircling his waist then used it to pull him towards her, lying back as he tumbled onto the bed beside her. She turned on her side to face him and continued, “I want to get back to just hanging out with this cool guy I’m into… as in, ya know, _literally cool,_ get it? Playing darts. Eating yummy, greasy pub food. Having way too much sex.”

“No such thing, Summers,” Spike stated with a sigh as he clasped his hands behind his head and stared up at the ceiling.

Curling into his body, she rested her chin on his chest and softly demanded, “Look at me, Spike.” His eyes dropped to meet hers. “No matter how this plays out, I’ve got your back like you had mine.”

He nodded and wrapped his arms around her but didn’t speak. They lay, holding each other for several minutes before he broke the silence with, “You need dinner, love.”

“So do you,” she murmured against his skin but neither of them moved for a long time.

* * * *

Spike considered whether _mixed feelings_ might be his least favorite emotion. He was all about committing, going all-in, and that was impossible to do when he was feeling two things at once. While happy to be spending the day at his own place after starting to feel a bit like a prisoner at Council HQ, he was unhappy that the bright sunny day (and sod this mild summer weather) had kept him from rushing out of the house with Buffy when they got the call from Xander about a possible lead on Morgan in the Docklands. He’d be useless at the scene in this bloody buggering sunshine and, anyway, she’d get there quicker taking the bike than waiting for the car to come from HQ to take them both miles in the opposite direction. In weekday morning traffic no less.

So, there he sat, cooling his jets, waiting for word. He flopped down on the couch with a sigh, hit the remote on the DVD player then frowned at the first chords of the familiar theme song. Soon there wouldn’t even be _Passions_ to pass the time and he’d planned to savor these last few episodes.

_Bollocks!_

Of course, he couldn’t just have _this_ , have _her_ without there being a price to pay. Not even for a little while. To hold her, shag her, make her smile, have her look at him the way she did, with dare he think it, _love_ in her eyes. Sure, she’d said it, and more than once, but he still had a hard time believing it _._ Dream come true, it was, only to have his own past doings land on him like a ton of bricks. To remind him of how _utterly unworthy_ he was. Like he needed a reminder. Shaking his head, he settled into the sofa, shook off that train of thought and allowed himself to get pulled into the story unfolding in front of him.

He was about halfway through the second episode on the disc when something made him hit pause and engage all his senses. His brow furrowed, he looked up at the stained-glass window illuminated by sunlight. He shook his head then got up and went downstairs. Peering through the small leaded glass window adjacent to the front door, he blinked into the daylight and his eyes grew wide with shock.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered as he unlocked the door.

* * * *

“Hey, I tried calling you!” Buffy called out as she climbed the stairs.

At the top of the stairs she continued, “I left the bike at HQ and brought the Council car. And this really stupid hat Giles had at HQ. If you stick your hands in your pockets and haul ass you should be… Spike?”

The house was dark and quiet. No TV. No stereo. He wasn’t in the kitchen or den, so he had to be napping. Opening the bedroom door, she crooned, “Rise and shine, Sleeping Beau…”

The bed was neatly made. The bathroom was dark, door open. Spike wasn’t there. A bolt of panic shot through her.

_Calm down, Buffy, he used to be out and about in broad daylight all the time in Southern California. He got tired of waiting around because Spike, called Mike to run him to HQ. We probably just missed each other._

Pulling the bedroom door closed behind her, she tossed the hat aside and was reaching into her pocket for her phone when she saw it and the panic returned, tenfold.

_No… NoNoNoNoNoNoNo_

She lunged for the duster hanging in its usual spot on a peg in the hallway and _why the fuck_ hadn’t she noticed right away?!?! When she felt his phone in the pocket, she began to shake. She knew.

Something was wrong. Something was _very_ wrong.

Clutching the duster tightly to her she turned to leave and gasped in surprise at finding Mike standing in the doorway. With a nod he uttered the first words she’d ever heard him speak, “Miss Summers, I reckon we best be on our way.”

**TBC**


	20. Failure Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title again from "Small"

Buffy drew in a deep, fortifying breath as she watched the Council car pull away. As instructed, the driver had radioed the garage at HQ to relay a message to the library that there was a _situation_ at Spike’s, Buffy would be there shortly to explain and that everyone should stay put until she got there. She turned to find Mike leaning against his car on his mobile phone.

Meeting her eyes, he said, “She’s free… right,” then held out the phone to her and gestured for her to take it. She quickly paced to him and took it then climbed into the back of the taxi and shut the door before putting it to her ear and speaking into it, “Yes?”

“Hello, Ms. Summers? This is Charles Gunn. I know we haven’t met but I’m an asso…”

“Yes, I know you work with Spike in L.A.” she interrupted as the cab pulled away from the curb. She tapped her foot impatiently. If there was traffic, she was going to lose it. “And, please, call me Buffy,” she added, realizing how obnoxious she’d just sounded.

“Well, Buffy, people usually call me Gunn so of course Spike calls me Charlie.”

She half-smiled, running her hand over the duster on the seat beside her and replied, “Okay, Gunn it is. I appreciate the call, and sending Mike, but how did you even know that something was…?”

“He didn’t tell you about the chip?”

_Chip?!?!_

“Yes, chip.”

“Wait, what? I just said that out loud?” God, she had to stop losing track of where her brain stopped, and her mouth began.

A chuckle then, “No, but let’s just say your silence was loud. Honestly, after all the _Bugger Thats,_ _Sod Offs,_ and _Get Bents_ , I was as surprised as you are when he finally caved. It’s embedded in the fleshy part of his right palm, nowhere near his brain, so _this one_ causes him no pain. It’s in case of emergencies – the, uh, _parent company_ insisted we each have one implanted after uh… let’s just call it _an unfortunate incident_ South of the Border last year.

Spike is the first to activate his, which never mind that I now owe Angel 50 bucks, is why we sent Mike to his place. When activated, the chip transmits an SOS _,_ which came in about an hour ago. Using cell tower triangulation, it also provides his location within about three-quarters of a mile. He’s on the move. Headed west."

“Towards Wales.”

“Looks like and makes sense, based on what he’s told us. We’ll provide updates as they come in. Mike is at your disposal. I understand that the Council has drivers, but Mike has _other skills_ that may come in handy.”

“Mike’s with me on this, thank you. I’m sure that Spike will want to see him when this is over,” Buffy stated resolutely, meeting the driver’s eyes briefly in the rearview mirror. Her jaw tensing, she added, “But how did this even… in broad daylight?”

“That’s a damn good question, Buffy,” Gunn responded gravely. Her chest fluttered with anxiety.

_Damn it, Spike, if you go and get yourself dusted, I swear I’ll find a way to resurrect you again just so I can kick your ass._

* * * *

Buffy stared blankly out the window at the countryside rolling by, replaying how the day had begun. She relived those last moments of peace, of contentment, before they had gotten the call from Xander. Before the day had gone suddenly, horribly wrong.

She had woken to find Spike standing at the bedroom window, gazing out into the cemetery in the predawn. Sitting up in bed she had asked what he was doing. He had replied _thinking_. She had asked about what. He had again replied with a single word – _everything_ – but, despite the vagueness of that response, his tone and body language had conveyed that what he’d been thinking about were the awful things he had done in the dozen decades between his siring and ensoulment.

She had coaxed him back to bed – which had hardly required any coaxing at all because she was Buffy and he was Spike – and cradled his body in the warmth of hers. Comforting caresses had inevitably turned sensual and he’d folded her knees over his elbows and, while holding her gaze with infinite tenderness and adoration, slid home and fucked her slowly, reverently, as if he were a high priest, she a goddess and her body the temple. Then, as the sun rose, they had dozed off with him still inside her and slept entwined until awoken by her ringing phone.

She took a shuddering breath and fought back tears. Now wasn’t the time for tears. She had her lover, friend, companion, confidante, loyal protector of her family, liberator from the Sunnydale Hellmouth… was there _even a word_ for what he was to her? _Boyfriend_ sounded ridiculous in her head so she figured it would sound even more so out loud. _Champion_ spoke to the grand, heroic gestures he had made over the years but not to the quiet moments – the way he made her laugh, the look of absolute wonder in his eyes the first time they met hers each day, the way he seemed to anticipate her needs, how well he knew and understood her, the way he _just fit_ into her life. He was, simply, _her Spike._ Of course, he had been that for years. What was new was that she was now _his Buffy._

Turning to the passenger seated beside her in the back of Mike’s taxi she uttered, “I don’t think I can do it again… lose him. _Nobody_ should have to do that _twice._ It’s… _unthinkable._ ”

“Then don’t think it. You won’t lose him, Buff. We won’t let that happen,” Xander assured, adding with a wry smile, “Besides, this is _Spike_ we’re talking about. He’s the proverbial bad penny.”

Mustering an almost smile, she replied, “Maybe there’s something wrong with me because I can’t make it work with a living, breathing guy, but it feels… I mean, it’s so new but… for the first time in… probably ever, I feel like I’m in… what might be _a real relationship_ … that might actually have _a chance_.”

“There is nothing wrong with you, Buffy. God knows it’s been a long, strange… and I mean _very strange_ trip, but even _I_ get the yin and yang-y-ness of you two. Now.”

“God, remember the first time I told you that I thought Spike might be in love with me?”

“Yeah, I remember laughing my ass off.” 

“And I remember saying I wasn’t joking.”

“Then I said I hope not because that made it funnier. Looks like the joke was on me.”

“Looks like the joke was on both of us,” she remarked with a wistful smile then nudged him with her shoulder and offered, “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“You know what.”

* * * *

Buffy flopped onto the loveseat, bending her legs over the arm so that her feet dangled over the side. This site being a satellite to the main Welsh Council office in Cardiff, the Aberystwyth Council library wasn’t grand or in any way impressive – just a smallish-to-average sized room lined with bookcases and crammed with a desk, chair and the threadbare loveseat on which she was currently reclining – but it was cozy. She liked it. It was oddly comforting, which was why she had decided to pass the remaining nighttime hours there. She sighed wearily.

Everyone else was catching a couple hours of shuteye in the adjoining building, which served as the dormitory for the four slayers and watcher currently stationed there, lodging for Council guests and, occasionally, safehouse for someone in need of protection from the local demon community. Willow had been the last to turn in, finally relenting when Buffy had insisted that she was relying on her, on all of them, to have their wits about them when she wasn’t sure that she could trust her own.

While she appreciated having a place to freshen up and change, the bed in the room designated for her was a world of no. She knew it would feel intolerably… _empty_ , which she acknowledged was ridiculous considering she had spent most of her adult life sleeping alone and, until very recently, had been doing so with pathetic regularity. She had been sleeping in his arms every night for less than two weeks, hardly enough time to form a habit according to what she had read in her psych textbook eons ago.

But then, what did psych textbooks know of them? Certainly not that, _last time_ , the nights spent in his arms had been even fewer – not even a week’s worth – and yet what followed were days, weeks and months of bleak, bitter emptiness. Of missing his arms around her so much that she had wondered more than once if the emptiness would swallow her whole.

“Hold on, Spike. Please. Don’t make me go through that again,” she whispered into the silence of the library.

She checked the time. 2:48 a.m. Twenty-four hours earlier she had been sound asleep in his arms in his house in London. Now she was hundreds of miles away and he was, as far as they knew, less than an hour north of where she lay, enduring she couldn’t even begin to imagine what. Which was probably a good thing if she hoped to maintain her sanity.

She had wanted to immediately charge in, guns ablaze so to speak, but both Giles and the local watcher had advised resoundingly against it. They weren’t entirely sure what they were up against, what other tricks Tom Morgan might have up his sleeve. It wouldn’t do Spike any good for them to walk into a trap, to get any of them or innocent bystanders harmed, or worse. In her head, she knew they were right. That didn’t stop her heart from racing or gut from churning. The only consolation was that she wasn’t alone. She had her tried-and-true team, her original team, her _A Team_.

Okay, so maybe the _A Team_ had already fallen into one trap, but she had fallen right into it with them by rushing to join Xander and Giles at the site of the burned warehouse in the Docklands where Tom Morgan, and what remained of his London crew after the fight following the attack on Rose, had obviously holed up before setting fire to it and taking off. Where to had not been obvious until Spike’s disappearance. Clearly, Morgan had continued to have them under surveillance the entire fucking time.

She never should have agreed to let Spike leave HQ. She never should have left him alone. But, for crying out loud, broad-fucking-daylight. It never would have occurred to her. She was still having a hard time wrapping her head around it.

They may have underestimated Tom Morgan but, with over a decade’s worth of practice, they sure as hell knew how to respond in a crisis. From the moment she’d arrived back at HQ, she had been caught up in a whirlwind of activity. Giles on the phone with the Welsh Council; she on the phone with L.A. Travel plans swiftly drawn up – Xander would join her in Mike’s car while Giles and Willow followed in a Council car. Bags hastily packed. She had practically sprinted up the stairs to her room to pack hers, only then realizing with an ache in her chest how much of her wardrobe was already at Spike’s.

Flanked by the slayers who’d been staying with her since the day after the Friday night attack, Dawn had arrived at HQ just as they were preparing to leave. Buffy still didn’t know who had called her, hadn’t thought to ask. All she knew was that her sister had a bag of her own, having resolved to stay on at Gilbert Street to assist Vi in making sure that the premises and its occupants remained safe and secure, and that operations ran smoothly, until everyone was back where they belonged.

In the darkness and solitude of the empty room, Buffy was able to reflect on her sister’s calm, take-charge demeanor and her heart swelled with pride. To her surprise, Giles had been immediately and totally on board with the idea of Dawn joining Vi to hold the fort. He’d effused how much the younger Summers had picked up during her gap year working at Council HQ and praised her attention to detail.

Truth be told, Buffy had been dreading telling her sister that Spike had gone missing, afraid of how she would react. Afraid that she would see her own terror reflected in Dawn’s eyes. Instead, her sister had risen to the occasion, making it clear that she was there to do her part and did not require coddling. Setting her jaw, she had looked Buffy squarely in the eye and declared, _“Vi and I… we got this. Go… get our vampire and bring him home.”_

Then Dawn had pulled Buffy into a tight hug, and it had felt as though Joyce were there too, wrapping her arms around them both. All of it – every single second of every single minute of every single day since she had been called – had been worth it because of her, the baby sister who would not exist if Buffy hadn’t been _The Slayer_. She imagined that it might be a little like how mothers felt about their children. That you’d crawl on your hands and knees through broken glass for them. That you saw the absolute best of yourself in them.

And wrapped up in all of it was _him_. The former enemy who had stepped in to be her partner when she was desperate for someone, anyone, strong enough to help her protect the most precious thing in the world to her. And all because one day he had realized he was in love with her.

_“I will. I promise.”_

Buffy had whispered those words into her sister’s ear as they held each other. That was a promise she intended to keep. No matter what it took. They _would not_ lose him again.

**TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This marks the end of the chapters I've completed to date, having taken up this behemoth again to finish after a five-month hiatus during which I wrote a fic in response to a challenge over at the EF Spuffy fan fic archive and a year-end holiday fic. This is my only WIP at present and shall remain so until it's finished. So, as they say, stay tuned!


	21. Open to scorn just like me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from the track "Small"

Standing in Spike’s front garden, Dawn turned to scan the street again for… what, she had no idea, but she had been up most of the night turning it over in her head. Why would Spike have simply gone without a fight, knowing full well that it meant Buffy would have to go after him? The Docklands fire had obviously been designed to draw attention to the opposite side of town – that much had been clear the moment Spike had disappeared – but what had transpired here yesterday morning, _in broad daylight(!)_ , was utterly baffling. Particularly since, as Giles had confirmed with his contact at the Met prior to departing for Wales, it had not raised sufficient alarm in anyone to warrant a call to the police. So, here she stood, looking for something, _anything_ Buffy might have missed in her haste to pursue Spike’s captors, and coming up…

She was mid-scowl when she caught it out of the corner of her eye – movement in the front window curtains of the home across the street. She turned to face the building in time to see the curtains pulled tightly closed. Biting her lip, she considered for a moment then called out, “Vi?”

“Yeah?” the slayer replied as she emerged from the narrow alley between the house and the cemetery.

“Anything?”

“No. You?”

“We have an audience.” She nodded across the street then added, “I think we should pay a visit. Got an extra stake on you?”

“Always,” Vi replied as she followed Dawn’s gaze across Fulham Palace Road.

* * * *

Dawn and Vi exchanged a discreet sideward glance as they sat in the parlor across from Mrs. Wellman – a 70-something, lively, sharp-eyed woman – and waited for her to speak.

“You say you are _acquainted_ with the _peculiar_ young man who lives across the street?” she asked warily.

“He’s a colleague… and a friend,” Vi explained.

“We’ve known him for years, back when we all lived in California. I’ve known him even longer than Vi. Back in the day he was my… well, I guess you could call him my babysitter.”

The look on the woman’s face was priceless. Vi covered her mouth and coughed to conceal a smirk. Undaunted, Dawn went on, “He and my older sister were… seeing each other there for a while and have recently gotten back together. Maybe you’ve seen her around?”

“The yogi or the little blond?” Mrs. Wellman inquired, arching an eyebrow.

“Okay, so you’ve got me there,” Dawn stated with a sigh. “He isn’t a saint, but he’s been there for me… for both of us, for other people we care about, for people we’ve never even met actually, in ways that you couldn’t even begin to imagine. And he’s in trouble, serious trouble, so if you saw or know something then we would be very grateful if you told us what it is. If not, then we’ll see ourselves out.”

The color drained from the woman’s face and she clasped and unclasped her hands anxiously then said, “Serious trouble, you say? Have you notified the authorities?”

“It’s not the type of trouble the authorities can help with,” Vi replied.

“Oh dear,” the woman repeated then looked away from them and muttered, “Sill.”

“Excuse me?” Dawn prodded.

“Sill… Priscilla, my lodger. In the 80s, we converted a room at the back of the house into a bedsit for my mother-in-law. After she passed, we used it for storage for years but when Roger died suddenly two years ago February, I decided to clear it out and let it for a bit of extra income… and, I suppose, to make the house feel a little less empty. You see, our only daughter’s long grown and gone, living on the Continent with her Dutch husband. Asked me to join them after Roger’d gone but…”

She shrugged and continued, “Sill’s been lodging with me for almost two years now – a perfectly lovely young woman if a bit at sixes and sevens about what she wants to do with her life.”

“Did something happen yesterday morning? With Priscilla?” Dawn coaxed, treading lightly.

“I knew something was wrong, you just do, but what could I…? She’s my lodger not my child, an adult after all. Not my place to…”

“Please, Mrs. Wellman, this is really important,” Vi entreated.

The woman took a deep breath then confided, “From the moment I set eyes on her, was clear as day that Sill was… alone… adrift. Only ever had her Mum, who’d passed by the time she showed up at my door with the advert for the room I’d tacked up on the notice board at Charing Cross up the road. Works at the Costa Coffee right there on hospital grounds, so she jumped at something affordable close to her job.

She’s been a model lodger – clean and quiet and respectful – but a young woman wants more than an old woman to keep her company, only… she’s the type of girl who fades into the background, gets overlooked. Shy, a bit awkward, but so much to offer the world if given the chance, I’ve told her time and again. Said she should get out more, but I never thought…”

She wrung her hands again then went on, “Early last week, she came home positively beaming about a new friend she’d made on the late shift, invited her round the pub after work the next day. Said they met up with a larger group and they were all very kind and welcoming to her. I was happy for her, getting out and about the way a young person should but then…

Saturday night, she didn’t come home. It was unlike her, but I’m her landlady not her jailer. Then, yesterday morning, she turns up after disappearing for days without a word… with one of these new _friends_ and she isn’t at all herself.”

Her heart sinking, Dawn pressed, “Not herself?”

“Faraway look in her eye. Barely spoke to me. And this _friend…_ something about her didn’t sit right with me. Said they were going on a camping trip… a _camping trip?_ Middle of the week? I asked Sill about her job. She didn’t answer. The other one, she did the oddest thing.

Went to my front window, opened the curtain, and made a big show of waving across the road then just made herself at home on my window seat, staring out the window and ignoring me as if I were invisible. Rude, I tell you, with Sill going mute on me to boot.

Then, after treating me to the longest, most uncomfortable half hour of my life in my own home, they left without another word. Climbed into a van and drove off. Sill didn’t even bother to pack a bag. It’s drugs isn’t it? Priscilla has gone and gotten herself mixed up with drugs.”

_God, how awesome would it be if this could be explained away by drugs,_ Dawn thought forlornly then replied, “What I can tell you is that your instincts were right.” Shooting Vi a look she added, “We’re going to need to see her room. We’re also going to take steps to safeguard your house that may appear… _unorthodox_.”

“Mrs. Wellman,” Vi interjected. “If Priscilla or anyone claiming to be a friend of hers returns, you must not under any circumstances let them into your home.”

“That seems rather… _extreme._ Besides, Sill has her own key, of course, to her own entrance round back, but also to the front door. Are you suggesting that I should have the locks changed? That she has really gone that far round the bend?”

“You said yourself that she didn’t seem herself,” the slayer advised then asked, “Did she use it yesterday? Her key?”

“Well, funny you should ask, no. Matter of fact, she rang the bell and just stood there gaping until I told her to stop lolling about and come in. Perhaps she’s misplaced it.”

As she rose from her seat Dawn inquired, “One more thing, were they… covered up?”

“Were they… what?!?!” The woman appeared to be reaching the terminus of her forbearance. And what even moderately sane person could blame her?

“Long cloaks? Full-length coats? Hoodies? Head scarves?”

“With this mild summer we’re having? Was 20 degrees at sunrise yesterday. They were in shirt sleeves.”

“And they looked… comfortable? Outside? In the sun?”

“Comfortable? I suppose they looked comfortable. We’re having a mild stretch but it’s hardly the Sahara, is it?”

The troubled look that passed between Dawn and Vi was not lost on the older woman, who was clearly nobody’s fool. Mrs. Wellman frowned, folded her arms at her chest, and observed, “This isn’t at all to do with drugs, is it?”

“No,” Vi replied with a diffident shrug.

“Afraid not,” Dawn concurred ruefully.

* * * *

“So, Morgan leverages Spike’s neighbor to _encourage him_ to cooperate,” Xander recounted shaking his head.

“It’s the stalkiness that really creeps me out. He was just so _patient…_ so… _methodical._ I mean, that poor girl…” Willow added with a frown.

“Tom Morgan’s type… a lonely, vulnerable kid,” Buffy stated through a tight jaw.

“What I don’t understand is why they let the neighbor live,” Xander speculated.

“Because if Tom hadn’t kept his word then Spike wouldn’t have had any reason to keep his,” Buffy explained with a shrug.

“Thanks to Dawn’s and Vi’s excellent detective work, we have also confirmed that the vampires who entered Mrs. Wellman’s home were able to move about freely in daylight, so we may safely assume that Morgan and Spike were able to as well,” Giles declared then took a sip of tea, savoring the comfortingly tannic beverage in the calm before the storm. The hackneyed British tonic for any crisis was cliched for a reason – it was equal parts soothing and bracing.

They were set up in the empty pub on the main street of the village of Pennal, population 400 give or take. Definitely more take than give at the moment, the village having been evacuated that morning and the A493 running through it closed on some pretense or another. Which as far as Giles was concerned was the least the government could do, having utterly failed to keep bloody tabs on the extracurriculars of one of their own mad scientists and his deranged offspring.

“How in the…? A spell?” Xander wondered aloud then shrugged an apology when Willow shot him a poisonous look.

“Something from Treadwell’s lab is my best guess, something his granddaughter has managed to replicate. Whatever it is, it must not be deployable on a large scale or, ostensibly, we’d have more reports of vampires roaming about in the daytime. His _experiments_ yielded _mixed results_ so, perhaps, the side effects are… _temporarily debilitating_.” He chose his words carefully, acutely aware of the dangerous energy pouring off his former charge.

“After I show her how grateful she should be that I don’t kill humans, I’ll ask her,” Buffy stated in a tone that to a stranger might be mistaken for matter of fact or, perhaps, even perky. But the people who knew her best knew better.

* * * *

He mentally catalogued her smiles, starting with the one she gave him before leaving the house the day before (Christ, had it only been a day?) and working backwards through time. The smiles from recent weeks – amused, happy, loving, and (a personal favorite) the rosy-cheeked, shyly libidinous smiles. The weary, sad smiles of the waning days of Sunnydale. The smiles from longer ago, not directed at him (save the time the witch betrothed them), but he secretly treasured them all the same. He loved her smiles. Every single one.

The sting of a slap brought Spike out of his reverie and the excruciating pain registered again. Coming off the serum that had allowed him to walk out into the sun with Tom Morgan was like burning from the inside out. Reminded him of the sodding amulet, only that had been over and done with soon enough. This… this was turning out to be a marathon not a sprint.

Bugger but the mad prat what had used his childe as a guinea pig for decades really hadn’t given a toss about the humane treatment of demons. Humans didn’t as a general rule, but Lionel Treadwell wasn’t your typical human. Cut straight from Maggie Walsh’s cloth or, rather, she had been cut from his. But, far as Spike new anyway, at least her twisted crusade had not turned into a multigenerational affair.

“Stings, don’t it?” Tom observed as he flopped into the chair next to the one Spike was chained to.

“Made of tougher stuff than me, mate. You seem alright.”

“Well, Sweet William, the _good_ news is that after being habitually and painfully poisoned for decades, an undead chap builds up a tolerance. A good meal would help.” He gestured towards the terrified young couple bound and gagged in the corner of the cottage.

“Thanks ever so, but I’m watching my figure.”

“Have you any idea how tiresome you have become? What in bloody blazes happened to you?”

Spike laughed then sucked in a sharp breath. It felt as though someone had poured molten steel down his throat, into his lungs. Centering himself he remarked, “Seems like only yesterday I was asking Angel the same thing… ah, the circle of un-life. Done your homework, haven’t you? You bloody well know what happened to me.”

Screwing up his face in disgust, Tom stated, “Pathetic as he is, my great git of a great grandsire was the victim of a curse. You… you did this… did this to yourself. And abandoning me after damning me wasn’t enough, you had to abandon Mum in all.”

“Wasn’t like that. She left me.”

“Word in our circles is because she could see the writing on the wall. Is her way… though her _gifts_ , such as they are, did _me_ sod all.”

“Dru’s not a bleeding crystal ball. No rhyme or reason to what she sees… or doesn’t see. Some days barely any rhyme or reason to _what she says,_ remember? If we knew you’d made it out of there, we’d have tried to get to you. Dru was beside herself with grief. Terrified of the bombs, the fire falling from the sky. We both were. It was… a nightmare.”

“I was beyond your help the moment they pulled me out of that inferno. And all because you couldn’t help making a right spectacle of yourself… William the Bloody, Slayer of Slayers, until he allows himself to be led by the nose by one.” Tom scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“Guilty as charged on all counts,” Spike responded with the closest thing to a shrug he could manage in his current physical state then added, “Really sorry, mate, but you had over half a century to try to get to Dru and me before… circumstances intervened.”

“Before you met _her._ ”

“Before that mob in Prague… could’ve used an extra set of hands there, I’ll tell you. Before I took Dru to the Hellmouth to make her better. Before that all went tits up thanks to Angelus. Before we took off for points south as the Slayer was fixing to send him to Hell… yeah, before I met _her._

Before a different government got their filthy hands on me and neutered me. Then I had no choice, had nowhere to go. Nowhere but _towards her._ Could’ve staked me…”

“Would have been an act of mercy if you ask me.”

“Too right… you have no sodding idea. Doesn’t change anything, though. What’s done is done. Either you finish me here and now and pack up your merry band of mutants to try to make a run for it – and I’ll take it like a man because I made you then left you to take my place in the hands of a sod so bent, he puts the likes of you and me to shame – or I sit here and watch her end you.

Either way, the best slayer what’s ever lived _is_ coming for you. Because she doesn’t abide what you’re doing to these kids, who were already dealt a shite hand and bear no blame for what happened to you. And because, and fuck if I know why, but she seems to have grown rather fond of me.”

Clapping a hand to Spike’s shoulder, which felt like a blast from a blowtorch, Tom grinned malignantly and replied, “Why, of course, Dear Sire, I look forward to your tender reunion with your beloved. And it won’t be long now. Your girl’s made it all the way to the village.”

**TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gotta admit, I was temporarily sidelined by the recent revelations from the Buffyverse sets. It just got me down at a time when there's already so much going on to get one down. But then I reread this chapter and realized that it is timely in its depiction of confidently competent young women, and depicts the fallout of the shitty deeds of a gifted but sadistic and objectively horrible human being. So, I used what I was feeling to punch it up a bit.
> 
> Fuck you, Joss Whedon.


End file.
